P3 - Tolerance, Compassion, and Emotional Intelligence

Rip Her to Shreds by Blondie

lyrics here

I have come to realize that a majority of my time could be spent complaining about my roommate. My gripes include her slow, muted speech, the baby-like way in which she speaks, her lazy, sloth-like movements, and most of all, her inability to get off the bed and do something other than peruse Facebook on her computer. Even as I type this, I see her click listlessly through pictures in a prom album, and I feel my nose crinkle in disgust.

[1] Da Vinci’s image of a perfect human being is only half of what I have in mind.

I have always had an impossibly high expectation of what a human should be. However, this desire for perfection slowly began to mutate in high school, until I found myself analyzing people, making reasons for why they failed my model of a worthy person, brushing away potential suitors for superficial reasons such as a fragile chin or an inadequate knowledge in film. I felt empowered because of my superior mental development, and by my strict adherence to the qualities of a human that I believed to be advanced. I spurned others dismissively and deemed them unworthy based on trifling characteristics that did not even speak for the kind of person they were.

Now, an older and wiser me realizes that this behavior not only prevents me from having meaningful relationships, but it makes me what I never wanted to be: intolerant and judgmental. This led to me to question the cause of my behavior: what had made me this way? I was raised on values of acceptance and friendliness, not hate and contempt, yet those undeniably strong feelings of self-worth had transformed the way I looked at the world. The person I was being was one whom I did not wish to be: I never dreamed of looking into crowds of people and immediately judging them.


[2] West Ridge Middle School, where my intolerance was born.

I discovered that my intolerance was born as a defense mechanism, a way to scorn those who had been intolerant of me. In middle school, I was tormented for being different and odd. My hatred of those who were “normal” and unlike me transformed because of insecurities within myself. Even as I continue to grow and mature, I find that there are still traces of intolerance within me. Ironically, narrow-mindedness regarding race, gender, sexual preference, and religion renders me into fury, yet I am guilty this very same crime towards not a specific group of people, but humans in general. My intolerance reeks of pride and of a shallow and cowardly method of self-preservation.

Often, I listen through selective listening, that is, listening to hear what I expect to hear. This is also true of my perception of the world: my presumption made me see what I expected to see, so I was not surprised or disappointed, only self-justified—another defense mechanism, another way for me to shield myself from the world. In my head, I rarely give people a chance, similar to how the humans eschew chickenheads in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? What I need is to practice empathetic listening, that is, “listening with intent to understand…seeking first to understand, to really understand.” [3]

[4] For this potion, we will need compassion and patience, with a touch of emotional intelligence.

My solution is to be found in a mixture that I will deem as “tolerance”, and it must be comprised half of compassion and half of patience, two traits that make up what I believe to be tolerance, at its core. I must seek to understand first and be understood later. I must allow people to show me what they have to offer, rather than judge them based on what I think they have to offer. Most importantly, I must find it within myself to learn to love and sympathize without distracting thoughts barring me from the possibility of discovering everyone’s ability to be amazing.



[5] Learning to be a good listener has never proved more difficult.

My first plan of action was to learn empathy. I decided to listen to people without judgment; instead I attempted, with each word they said, to look at the world as they saw it. This was nothing short of exhausting, for I found myself hanging on to every word and rolling it around on my own tongue. As a result, I noticed the increased enthusiasm and appreciation that alighted from my test subjects, for they could see genuine comprehension and identification in my face: they elicited a sincere, engaged response from me, not just the automatic “yeah”, “uh-huh”, or “right”. With this practice, instead of hearing the things my friends said and judging them for it, I was appreciating their words and trying to make their experience my own. The stony marble that was my intolerance had begun to chip away.

The second part of my transformation involved the full embodiment of compassion, and I needed to apply it to the one person of whom I was most intolerant: my roommate. One of my greatest sources of fury with her is the thunderous plucking of keys that emanates from her laptop long after I have gone to bed. Nightly, I lie in bed, seething with anger as I hear the “tap, tap, tap” of her instant messaging, tossing my comforter in annoyance and sighing pointedly. Countless times, I have imagined jerking out of bed and shouting at her until her face is reduced to naught but a slick plate of tears.


[6] This baby’s terrifying anger is very much akin to what I felt.

Last night was no different: I was in bed by twelve o’clock, having spent the night hurrying from obligation to obligation, and having managed to finish all of my homework in a satisfactory manner. My roommate, meanwhile, had lane in bed all day, skipped her first two classes, and was still chatting away on instant messenger and clicking through Facebook. I felt myself quailing with imminent rage.

Sure enough, her typing did not cease, nor did she make any effort to be less loud. I felt my fists clench, and the scream that I knew was inevitable began to build up in my throat. This was when I forced myself to remember that each human is just as emotionally complex as me, and like me, they only wish to be understood. Shouting and throwing things would be no use, and hurling biting insults at her would only satisfy the hurtful part of me. Instead, I sat up calmly, and rationally explained to her how bothersome her late night actions were. I tried to extend as much compassion as possible, by telling her that I understood she needed to talk to her friends. Finally, I offered a conciliatory solution of her having more awareness of my sleeping needs, and being quieter or going to sleep earlier.

The decision I made to extend my emotional sympathy, I feel, has served me for the better. Not only did I come out victorious, but I also came out of the situation maintaining a high head and all my humanity. This experience is the beginning of my increased awareness to the emotions of those around me.


[7] Compassion is one of the key elements of being a human.

The change has not been easy. My intolerance and judgment have been so ingrained, so subconscious, that it comes with everything I do. In the future, tolerance and the emotional sympathy required of it, is one of the most important traits I will need to be successful, for regardless of the career I choose, I will be working with people of all types. If I shunned everyone because I was intolerant of his or her intelligence level, mannerisms, or interests, I would be very hard pressed to find a satisfying work environment. In the workplace, it is extremely important to tolerate someone even if you do not enjoy his or her company, because it is all about the team, not the individual. Instead, in the future, I must make a conscious effort to extend my emotional intelligence, most of all to the people with whom I do not agree. I do not see this as a compromise of my own beliefs, but as a way to be an emotionally informed human being.

Word Count: 1400

[1] Live Science. .
[2] Picasa Web Albums. .
[3] Covey, Stephen R. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2004.
[4] Tennis Planet. .
[5] Harvard Literary Blog. .
[6] Cool Free Images. .
[7] Real Food Tulsa. .