A few weeks ago, while at work, I was on my way to the lunchroom to fill my mug with water. I paused for a moment, just inside the doorway: a coworker I didn’t really care for was putting his lunch in the fridge.  I immediately adopted a judgmental attitude, but was awakened to a kinder state as his face fashioned itself into a charming smile. He reached into his lunch bag and pulled out a small thermos that was decorated with Disney princesses. He released a little laugh (a whispered bark), unscrewed the lid and smelled the contents.

Dr_Seuss_pink_ink_

Dr. Seuss: One Fish, Two Fish

I walked into the room and said, “Good morning.”

He looked at me and said, “Morning. Want some pink lemonade?”

“Sure.”

So we sat in the lunchroom, sipping the lemonade, an enchanted elixir that transformed both of us. He seemed like a different person; a smiling, charming man who regaled me with sparkling, humorous stories about his daughter. I was able to disregard the behavioral warning system in my mind that was attempting to tell me I didn’t like him and should not be lulled into a false sense of contentment while sitting with him. The pink lemonade peeled away several layers of coping behavior and we came closer to knowing each other in fifteen minutes than we had in the previous fifteen years.

I still don’t particularly like working with him: his personality grates against mine (and, no doubt, vice-versa). But I try to abstain from judgment (the association of pink lemonade helps). He is confronting the universe from a different point of view; not any better, or worse, than my perspective, it’s just that his personal history is different from mine and we have developed clashing coping techniques for the struggles of day-to-day existence.

Since then I’ve been trying to approach others with more kindness, openness, and empathy. And less prejudicial baggage. I’ve experienced various levels of success; it’s a work in progress…

My most ambitious plan is to get to work early one day and fill the water cooler with pink lemonade.

.

.

.