From the Couch to the Bus to the Moon

I am a great spectator. You could say it’s my special skill. I will sit and watch any manner of things like my life depends on it. A 7-part history of the Roosevelts? Loving every minute. Sports events I couldn’t care less about? Huge fan. City meetings on public access, meat-filled cooking shows even though I’m a lifelong vegetarian, The Bachelorette? Why not? It’s good to be well-rounded and informed.

When I’m done watching every preview on Netflix, I like to read. Nineteenth-century British literature is my forte, as are Zillow listings, Houzz newsletters and most news outlets. Want to discuss current events? Yes, let’s. We could talk about the New York prison break, Hillary’s emails, the Confederate flag, the demise of Jen and Ben. You name it. You see, talking with authority about things that have nothing to do with you is a crucial part of being a great spectator.

Of course, there’s a fine line between being a keen observer of life and a lazy lump. I proudly walk the line, but it’s not necessarily a trait I want to pass on. I’d rather Berdey and Bea grow up to be doers than talkers. In other words, if I had to pick a Roosevelt for my kids to emulate, I’d pick adventurous, energetic Teddy (minus the game-hunting and war) even though I personally identify with Franklin, safe in his fireside chair.

Bea is not a natural spectator. She’s fidgety and physical and always busy. Berdey is another story. If he had his way, he would watch and read and talk until his head exploded. Bea I can always reach, but Berdey is often in Berdey World—impervious to noise, filth, hunger and the elements, as long as the TV is on or a book is open.

Being a champion spectator is fine, as long as it’s at the amateur level. I never want my kids to be bystanders in their lives, to be afraid to take chances or seek connection or search for more. I know too well how hard it is to push past your fears. I know how easy it is to get caught up in things that don’t serve you as a person, or to simply sit things out.

I come to this topic in a circuitous way. A couple of weeks ago, we were on a city bus that hit a pedestrian straight on. It was a miserably rainy day and she had dashed across the road to avoid having to walk the length of a long Manhattan avenue. Thanks to our alert driver, the pedestrian was only banged up and not worse. I ran out of the bus to help, and later, when I stepped back on, Berdey told me the other passengers thought I was a doctor because of my quick reaction. Pretty laughable. All I had done was make a phone call and tell her not to move.

Afterward, though, I was pissed off. Not one other person got off the bus to see if this woman was alive or dead, including the driver, who only kept saying, “It’s not my fault.” Fear kept them in their seats; they thought it was better if they didn’t get involved. Maybe they wrongly thought they had nothing to contribute to the situation.

When the police and ambulance finally left, I said to Bea and Berdey, “It was no big deal that I helped that lady. If your gut tells you to help someone, do it. Don’t sit back and watch. You can do better than that.”

This got me thinking—as I judged the people who’d stayed on the bus and warned my kids not to grow up to be lily-livered bystanders like them—about whether I was a bystander myself in certain ways. It’s nice to be good in a crisis, but what about the rest of the time? Do I use my love of reading and watching and “learning on the Internet” to close myself off to other things?

The obvious answer is yes. I would be perfectly fine if I didn’t check Google News four times a day or missed the latest mudroom trends. I would be better off. I like to be a spectator because it’s fun and it’s in my nature, but maybe I’m also afraid not to be one.

It’s hard to say, just as it’s hard to match your kids up to the right Roosevelt. But if that other Roosevelt stalwart, Eleanor, could feel lonely and afraid most of her life and still go on to do amazing things, there’s hope for us all. It’s never too late to put yourself out there. Or too early.

Originally posted on Berdey.com