The World's Friends by Caroline Altom

Do you ever feel like the whole world is just… waiting for you? Like it’s whispering (or in my case YELLING), “Hey, you! You wanna hang out sometime?” And then after you hang out a few times, some feelings develop, maybe your hang-outs turn into dates, and then before you know it, the world is ready to introduce you to its friends. “Hey, I was thinking. I want to introduce you to my friends. They’re pretty cool. At first they might be a little intimidating. Because, well, they might be a little different than you. But I promise, if you give them a chance, you’ll love them.” And little did you know, the world was saying the same thing about you to all his friends.

Let me tell you—I got to meet some of the world’s friends, and I LOVE THEM.

When it came time for college graduation, like most (all) college grads, I had a lot to figure out. For sure a “trip around the world” was at the top of my list, like many other grads who want to travel, take risks, and put off responsibility as long as possible. AS WE SHOULD. Sorry Mom. Luckily for me, the day I walked into my “Senior Research” class, it absolutely did not feel right. Which then meant I had two weeks to figure out an internship for after graduation. Best thing that ever happened. Oh and did I mention that for about a year leading up to graduation, the universe, or the Big Guy Upstairs, was sending me messages that I needed to go to Ireland?

So, why not? Why not at least try for it? I had to do, otherwise that would be some major self-betrayal. And I knew I had nothing to lose by going for it. I either stayed and did an internship in the states, or I got to go to freaking Ireland. I saw no negative consequences there, only opportunity. And next thing I knew, I was packing my bags to move to Ireland and work at The Shelbourne Hotel. Can we say “meant to be?” I hate imagining if I hadn’t tried, because cheese alert, this experience changed my life.

As I sit here trying to write about what it was like moving there, I wish there was a way to transfer the warmth in my heart and smile on my face into words on this page. I felt so alive the minute I stepped onto those streets of Dublin. And it was all so exciting. Apartment! International roommates! Immigration office! Social security card! Irish phone and bank account! Different languages all around me! Using Euros! Hopping on the train, not having any idea where I was going! Getting rained on TONS! But most importantly, I met so many new and different and beautiful people, who taught me so much and brightened my soul forever. I’ll have more to say on them, hang tight.

Working was quite the experience as well. I quickly learned that “half-two” really meant 2:30, and that when people say “You’re very welcome,” it’s not in response to someone giving thanks, but it really is a welcome, you know? I’m sorry, but I had the best position at the entire hotel. Don’t get me wrong, there were loads of absolutely exhausting and strenuous days/nights; that’s the service industry. But I had so many opportunities to chat with hundreds of guests and hear their life stories. Like Jerry, the Architect from New York, who had MS and while he sat in the green lobby chairs cheerfully waiting for his wife to return from her adventures, told me of his experiences building the finance building in NYC. Or Michael, the man who had been in Dublin in the 1970’s and while he was shopping, came out to Grafton Street and found the IRA ready to blow up the building across the street. The stories are endless, and I plan on sharing them one day. Oh I was just constantly elated. I believe humans are happiest when they’re learning, which leads to progression, and man, I was in a constant state of learning for the eight months I lived on that breathtaking Emerald Isle. It’s even greener and more beautiful than you imagine it, by the way.

I think it’s clear I could go on about my day-to-day in Ireland. But a large part of my overall experience was when, after saving the tiny amount of money I worked my butt off for, I visited England, Austria, the Czech Republic, and later quit my job early (whoops) to go travel the rest of Europe for a month. This is when I got to meet more of the world’s friends, and wow they really are great. Hungary, Sweden, Denmark, Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Italy. Incredible places, really. Stunning, unique, tasty, aesthetically pleasing, and each offer something completely awe-inspiring.

But when I look back on that trip, and my whole experience in Ireland, I don’t first think of the things I saw. Not to ever discount the beauty of those places. But those places will always be... places. Dare I say, they’re “re-place-able?” Not in a sense that one is better than the other, or one is forgettable, etc. I’m simply implying that you can leave one place and go to another, always. And majority of the time it will be overly exciting to visit each new place. But for me, it’s the people that make the experience. The people and their cultures are irreplaceable. I will never, ever, forget dancing at a birthday party in the family garage with Shandor, the 70-something year old Hungarian that spoke no English (or I spoke no Hungarian, really). But you don’t need to speak the same language to swing dance do you? Nor will I forget the delicate, pretty old lady who I talked with the whole train ride into Switzerland, who I swear was the most “colorblind,” open minded, loving person I’ve ever met. And of course my Oma for the week in Holland, who is Dutch but lived and married in Israel, and experienced and saw so much in her lifetime, she would do the world so much good by making an “inspirational quote of the day” book.

And what would I have done in Ireland, without my people there? Who welcomed and embraced me with their complete love, and taught me so much about their own culture, their own beliefs, families, political views, goals, dreams, and who are all so different from me and from one another, but who very clearly love sharing our humanity.

There’s no doubt about it, meeting some of the world’s friends was intimidating. And they are different than me in a lot of ways. But hey, since when was “difference” a bad thing? I thought different was just…different? I believe the intimidation comes from the unknown. We often fear what we don’t know or understand. But as you give those unknowns a chance, they become more known, more understood, more loved.

In the end, we are different. But mostly in the superficial fluff that doesn’t matter as much. You see, they’re just trying to figure out how to live their life, the same way I’m trying to figure out how to live mine.

This woman is just as driven, dazzling and energetic as she sounds and we can't get enough of her wild spirit. Follow her on Instagram at @gingerattack.

The Answer Is Love: An Essay by Brenda Smart

When our post on violence got over four hundred views in one day, I knew Love Force had touched on a topic that rang significant for a wide spectrum of people. In response, I reached out to social work clinician Brenda Smart, who's devoted much of her life to helping survivors and perpetrators of violence. Read on as Smart shares why she chooses to open her heart to all parties, and how love can be the most powerful force in the world.

While in my clinical social work masters program, I wrote a paper titled, “What About the Men?” I worked in a shelter in Southern California helping women and children get back on their feet after fleeing domestic violence. I saw first hand the damage that these male abusers had on their victims. However, being a mother of four boys, I often thought to myself, “What about the men? Who is helping the abusers?” I know that question can trigger a lot of negative emotions from women; and I understand. Let me clarify.

I listened to woman after woman share their horrific story of abuse. Although I put on my professional face, my heart would sink as I watched the women physically shake, look terrified, and appear broken as they entered the shelter and had to provide me with details of their abuse. I must stop here and explain what I mean when I say the word "abuse". Most people immediately think of physical abuse. And while it is damaging, the majority of the clients that I worked with often reported that bruises, cuts and scrapes could heal, leaving little visible damage over time. However, they explained that the damning effect of emotional abuse is relived over and over, leaving unseen scars that are never healed yet are always present. Words such as, "You're stupid, ugly, worthless" (and many more too vulgar to share) corrode the spirit. These women were left downtrodden and questioning if their existence mattered. I could write much more on my thoughts of "abuse", but I truly have come to believe that anything less than nurturing can be abuse to the spirit of a person.

One day I discovered a little insight to my question, "What about the men?” I remember meeting with this particular abuser as if it were yesterday. He was around twenty-five years old. I was his seven-year-old daughter's counselor and it was court ordered that he visit with me. I had conducted interviews with my client's mother (24) regarding the horrific abuse she endured and my client witnessed. I was also provided a picture of the abuser that showed a shaved head, gun carrying, heavily tattooed and angry man. I will admit that I was scared to meet with him. Because of my love for the men in my life, I went into the meeting with an open heart to try and learn from this man, to hear his story. He came in equipped with excuses, stories, and anything he could to "sell himself as innocent." As I listened, I felt inspired to show him empathy, kindness and understanding. I was amazed what happened next. He took a sucker that I had set out for my child clients, and he proceeded to suck on it as if it was a pacifier (at least it seemed to me that it offered him that same comfort). He curled up in a ball and cried as he shared with me details of his terrible, loveless childhood. He was shaking, and apologizing profusely for crying. He was embarrassed. I reassured him that it took a strong, brave man to show the vulnerability he had. He too was a victim of abuse. 

Abuse is cyclical. I would guess that 90% of the women that I taught in parenting classes and domestic violence education raised their hands when asked how many of them grew up with domestic violence in the home. And the same amount raised their hands stating that they swore to themselves as children that they would NEVER repeat the same cycle of abuse, yet here they were in domestic violent relationships (side note: on average, a women will go back to her abuser seven times). A majority of those who grow up in a home with domestic violence either identify with the abuser (and grow up to be abusers) or identify with the victim (often finding themselves in relationships with abusers). Unfortunately, we fall back on what is familiar. 

I’m grateful that we have made some positive strides as a society in understanding domestic violence, evidenced by outreach programs, domestic violence education, and many classes in helping the survivors. Although I believe law enforcement has a long way to go (still requiring physical proof of abuse before an arrest can be made), they are making strides in taking domestic disputes seriously. However, I believe as a society we are a long way off in understanding the abuser. We raise boys to "man-up", tell them not cry and suck it up, and the list goes on. The anger that we see released in boys is very often penned up emotions that they do not know how to express, therefore it shows up in bullying, fighting, etc. Depression is often masked as anger in men, while women often show symptoms of depression manifested by crying, laying in bed, feeling overwhelmed. Very seldom do men show those same symptoms. Society tells them that they cannot. They are left confused, not heard or misunderstood. 

We need to unite in opening our hearts in empathy and understanding, not condemnation when we hear a story of domestic violence. I am not saying that we should justify any form of abuse, but I believe our hearts must be open to both women and men in these situations. Government gives grants that help support outreach, shelters, classes, etc. for the women. Yet the jails seem to be the only way out for the men. Therapy is offered to both, but the majority of men have been told that they are less-than or weak if they seek help. They are left stranded with uncontrolled emotions. We must remember that there just may be a little boy inside that abuser with a story of pain that none of us understand. 

Parents: please allow your sons and daughters safety when sharing their thoughts, feelings and emotions. Show them physical and emotional love. If they are raised in an environment of love, there is a much greater chance that LOVE will be the familiar that they fall back on when they are in a relationship.

A portrait of love. Brenda currently lives in Hong Kong with her husband Dave, and makes it a point to spend time with her four sons, four [new] daughters and beautiful grandchildren whenever possible. (While counselors in the United States need to be licensed, Smart was preparing for her state boards when they found out they were moving to Hong Kong. Fortunately, a masters in social work is recognized throughout the world.) She currently volunteers as a counselor in Asia.

Boys Will Be Boys (And Why That Is The Stupidest Thing You Could Ever Say To A Little Girl)

Truth and love require conversation around things that matter. Things that are scary, things that are 'taboo', things that feel awkward, things that might be painful to address or think about. I never want Love Force to fear any of those things, because I never want readers to fear talking about, and acting on, things that matter.

Some time ago I came across a poem by a young woman named Fortesa Latifi. Her work stunned me, and helped open my eyes to the necessity of using your voice. The following piece is titled Boys Will Be Boys (And Why That Is The Stupidest Thing You Could Ever Say To A Little Girl):

when she was 7, a boy pushed her on the playground
she fell headfirst into the dirt and came up with a mouthful of gravel and lines of blood chasing each
other down her legs
when she told her teacher what happened, she laughed and said ‘boys will be boys honey don’t let it bother you
he probably just thinks you’re cute’

but the thing is,

when you tell a little girl who has rocks in her teeth and scabs on her knees that hurt and attention are the same

you teach her that boys show their affection through aggression

and she grows into a young woman who constantly mistakes the two

because no one ever taught her the difference

‘boys will be boys’

turns into

‘that’s how he shows his love’

and bruises start to feel like the imprint of lips

she goes to school with a busted mouth in high school and says she was hit with a basketball instead of his fist

the one adult she tells scolds her

‘you know he loses his temper easily

why the hell did you have to provoke him?’

so she shrinks

folds into herself, flinches every time a man raises his voice

by the time she’s 16 she’s learned her job well

be quiet, be soft, be easy

don’t give him a reason

but for all her efforts, he still finds one

‘boys will be boys’ rings in her head

‘boys will be boys

he doesn’t mean it 

he can’t help it’

she’s 7 years old on the playground again

with a mouth full of rocks and blood that tastes like copper love

because boys will be boys baby don’t you know

that’s just how he shows he cares

she’s 18 now and they’re drunk

in the split second it takes for her words to enter his ears they’re ruined

like a glass heirloom being dropped between the hands of generations

she meant them to open his arms but they curl his fists and suddenly his hands are on her and her head hits the wall and all of the goddamn words in the world couldn’t save them in this moment

she touches the bruise the next day

boys will be boys

aggression, affection, violence, love 

how does she separate them when she learned so early that they’re inextricably bound, tangled in a constant tug-of-war

she draws tally marks on her walls ratios of kisses to bruises

one entire side of her bedroom turns purple, one entire side of her body

boys will be boys will be boys will be boys

when she’s 20, a boy touches her hips and she jumps

he asks her who the hell taught her to be scared like that and she wants to laugh

doesn’t he know that boys will be boys?

it took her 13 years to unlearn that lesson from the playground

so I guess what I’m trying to say is

i will talk until my voice is hoarse 
so that my little sister understands
that aggression and affection are two entirely separate things

baby they exist in difference universes

my niece can’t even speak yet but I think I’ll start with her now

don’t ever accept the excuse that boys will be boys

don’t ever let him put his hands on you like that

if you see hate blazing in his eyes don’t you ever confuse it with love

baby love won’t hurt when it comes

you won’t have to hide it under long sleeves during the summer

and

the only reason he should ever reach out his hand

is to hold yours

* * *

Did you know that one in three women worldwide have experienced physical or sexual violence—mostly by an intimate partner? Violence against women, whether physical, sexual, or psychological, can happen to anyone, and there is no specific demographic of victims or survivors. All races, religions, income and education levels are susceptible to violence and abuse. For a glimpse at what violence against women looks like worldwide, watch One Billion Rising's phenomenal video here (it's jarring, so I do advise a trigger warning for survivors of trauma).

Take some time to educate yourself and those you love about this global pandemic here, and if you or someone you know may be in an abusive relationship, visit here or call 1-800-799-SAFE.

Editor's note: A reader brought to my attention the importance of applying this advice and learning not only to women and girls, but to men and boys as well. So often we place responsibility on a single gender or identity, as if it was solely theirs to respond to. Both women and girls, men and boys must understand there is no excuse for violence. Consider an expanded version of the title of Latifi's poem as you ponder its message and implications: Boys Will Be Boys (And Why That Is The Stupidest Thing You Could Ever Say To A Little Girl Or Boy). Thank you reader!

(Image by Olga Inoue)