Stressful Rewards

Blog #5 - Monica Rae

June 1st, 2020

Manila, the capital of the Philippines, was scattered with rhythmic chaos—horns beeping, children half-naked, yelling in the streets, tall buildings casting shadows on the traffic below, taxi cabs crowded with locals and the occasional out-of-place businessman in a hurry to get to his high-rise hotel. I was gazing out the window of my room on the 20th floor, afraid of heights yet captivated by the landscape so different from my home.

After almost a month staying with a friend, I had come to know the people—their hospitality, so generous in the middle of their poverty and suffering. And their response to adversity would be my muse. There was a knock at the door; time for my late morning exchange with the young man, age 17 or 18, whose name I never learned how to pronounce correctly. During my month’s stay in Manila, he would make sure I had fresh towels and linens and anything else I needed.

I had come to learn enough about the economic structure of Manila, and much of the Philippines, to know chances were he lived in the ghettos, which sometimes consisted of abandoned one room sheds that served as kitchen, bedroom and living quarters for a family.

My Filipino friend was quick to straighten my room, empty trash cans, teach me snippets of Filipino jargon that would help me navigate a local shopping mall and help me understand the currency exchange from dollars to pesos.

On one occasion, he rescued me from the approach of a wealthy foreign man in the lobby who had mistaken me for a prostitute because of where I was sitting! So, it was without hesitation that I would retrieve my thrown-away belt for him. “It would fit my sister, Miss Monica. If you no longer need, I take it for you,” he asked in broken English. I felt embarrassed at having thrown it away and, before we would say our goodbyes, I would provide him with various shirts, a pair of shoes and American chocolates.

I was under no illusion that my exceedingly small gesture of kindness could change the folly that had enveloped this country. But, my month’s stay in the Philippines would change my worldview.

They knew starvation and suffering the way I knew TV and strip malls. They sang songs in a sweaty bus ride through a smog infested city and smiled while children walked on the beach looking for food. They sang when I would be crying, they laughed when I would be yelling, they relished moments of convenience, and I complained about lines at Starbucks.

Fast forward 16 years…

As the quarantine began—so did my complaints. How inconvenienced I was to have to wash my hands more, ration toilet paper, not go out to eat as often…even find other jobs to make the money necessary to pay my bills. This complaining was short lived as I realized the stress I felt wasn’t from the insurmountable loss I was experiencing—for I wasn’t infected and I didn’t live or work in an environment that was constantly exposed. Instead, the stress was from the ‘change’ that was imposed on my routine.

Stressed.

I use the word like trauma has swallowed my day—when on most occasions it has not. Once again google has assisted me in sharpening my understanding of a word I haphazardly use.

Stress: “is the body's reaction to any change that requires an adjustment or response.”

That got me thinking…

Is it true that being stressed makes you work harder?

I’ve noticed in recent years, that I put 10 more things on my to do list. Thinking somehow the pressure of doing it all will keep me feeling accomplished—that the stress I feel is necessary to perform.

Until I’m forced to stop.

To stand still.

To stop doing.

Is that it though?

Is it necessary to stop completely or is stress sometimes necessary to find pleasure?

Mother Teresa said, “We cannot do great things on this earth. We can only do small things with great love.” Maybe Mother Teresa was on to something.

The teacher that struggles to get her students to engage in British history for a semester, wondering if it matters or makes a difference. Her students are turning in assignments because they are assigned, but late nights of correcting quizzes reveal a void. And then a conversation in class; pencils down, honest questions, a light bulb moment when teenagers are engaged in a world away from their phones. The teacher sighs—her efforts rewarded.

The emergency worker coming upon an accident. Calming the victims while blood and wreckage surround them. Restoring their hope, their safety through the tears and unknowns. Days pass and the victims come to express their thanks and introduce their loved ones. The worker is paid back with the sight of their smiles—the fuel for another response call.

The mother knee deep in throw up, paper piles and children grabbing for her every moment. Getting lost in the needs of another for hours without rest. The laundry, spills, bills, and chaos all washed away in a moment—the child sitting on the mother’s lap, leaning in, soft and warm and freely giving—hugs.

In my convenient lifestyle of comfort and instant gratification, I seek to balance satisfaction and accomplishment. While so many in less advanced communities struggle to survive, often wondering if they can feed their family or ever overcome injustices.

Is it stress that keeps us motivated to capture the flag of satisfaction?

This innate desire to do is at odds with the value of our very existence.

Stress can be like a blanket, numbing our hearts while engaging our minds. I’ve been there. So many of us have. The sick child, cancer scares and chronic diagnosis, deaths that come too soon, relationships that leave us perplexed or defeated.

Stress, though, is a relative term. And while it is influenced by our perspective it goes without saying the rewards are there for the taking.

But maybe it needs to be said. Isn’t it worth repeating? The rewards, the gifts, the beauty in the demands…they are there, worth the effort, buried, but not hidden in the challenge.

In my Manila hotel room, I stood face to face with a man-boy. He greeted me each morning with a smile covering challenges I couldn’t begin to comprehend. His reward—a paycheck, a used belt. My reward—his choosing of joy, so impacting in my life, I’m writing about it in a blog years later.

DEDICATION: This blog is dedicated to ALL the emergency workers choosing to enter the unpredictable and unknown—knowing the reward.

*Portions of this blog used with permission from my published book, “The Middle of Ordinary.” Available on Amazon or personal order.