How to Survive the Paris Terrorist Attack

Did you feel the way I did, as if you were punched in the stomach hearing what happened in Paris? An ordinary, calm night turned into a horror as terrorists gunned down people. I drank a half bottle of wine, ate carbs, and didn’t want to come out of bed.

I became depressed. Which is difficult when you're a speaker who is supposed to make people laugh.

I have a list of things to do when I’m down, but looking at the list was more upsetting. Only someone with a heightened sense of optimism would write, “When depressed: Write a poem. Listen to a motivating podcast. Read a book. Help someone else.” What may have seemed like a good idea when I was bursting with an “I’m high on life” attitude, was now shallow and exhausting. After all, people were killed and they will never read another book. And why would I help someone, as I hate people now.

One of the spectators said the shooters looked normal. As I walked my dogs down Abbot Kinney Boulevard, the trendy shopping street in Venice Beach CA, I passed people and found myself wondering what these normal looking people were capable of. Someone wanted to pet my dog, and I worried he might slip him some poison. 

It was then that my big Springer Spaniel started to get in that, “I’m going to poop” position, right in front of a hip outdoor wine bar and I realized I didn’t have a doggy poop bag. He has generous movements, things that are surely visible from outer space and contribute to global warming. I didn’t know what to do. I could stand over it but people might think it was my doing. If I left to find a bag, people would assume I was shirking my responsibility to clean up, and a hate mob would form. 

That was my metaphor for what the world had come to -- one big pile of sh*t.

And that’s when I saw the elegant woman getting out of her car next to me. She’s a stylish, beautiful older woman who I was sure was going to admonish me. She looked at me as I said in my defense preparing for her attack, “I have no bags!”

Rather than anger, she said kindly, “Let me help.” Then she reached into her car and handed me fancy, gift-wrap paper.

“Oh, thank you… thank you so much….” I told her as I picked up the stack left by my dog. I knew my dog was thinking, “What? Now you’re re-gifting it?”

She smiled and said, “No problem. Have a great day.”

That’s when it hit me that we have a choice as to what we look at. My fear and suspicion were derailed by the kindness of a stranger. Her caring act came between me and the terrorist act. By her reaching out -- the terrorist lost.

What are you doing to not let fear and hate win?