Choosing Proximity

A story about an invitation that changed my life.

Dear friend:

I don’t remember how or when I learned the meaning of proximity, but I suspect it was early on. I might have read a definition— true, clear and precise— in middle school. Or maybe I made sense of the word from context: shrouded yet still decipherable for someone who chose to linger, just a bit. Either way, at some point, I thought I knew.

In truth, I arrived at a real understanding of proximity much later. In January 2018, Bryan Stevenson spoke at a girl’s school in California. I sat, as a parent, in the one-time chapel that the school now uses for assemblies, listening deeply to words that I knew I would want to remember. 

I’m grateful for that choice because that day he extended the most important invitation I’ve ever received: choose proximity. Not just the nearness that’s reserved for people we know and love. He spoke of a closeness that specifically included those who are less known: the powerless, the poor, the absent, the misunderstood, the suffering.

This idea of proximity has shaped my approach to life, since. It urged me to slow down. It brought me to notice and engage with people I didn’t normally see. It exposed the harmful persistence of invisibility that included the invisibility of me. 

I began living and working more deliberately in nearness to the edges. These places existed far from the normative centers that I knew. Through heartful noticing, I discovered a beauty that lives beyond surroundings that are comfortable, familiar, easy for me to see. 

This approach has nourished my life in ways that I compare to the benefits of my family’s Mughlai cooking: there’s a richness that comes from slow simmering. There are no shortcuts to that deep, nuanced taste that evolves from investing a different kind of close up time and attention. It’s the beauty that comes as a result of knowing that at some point in the process, I will have to turn down the fire, cover the pot, and trust that my role is to stay close by while giving other players the space and grace to showcase their unique offerings.  

In my earliest years, I felt more certainty in the extent of my knowing. These days, I realize the ignorance of that assuredness. True wisdom evolves like slow simmering. With patience, humility, and careful tending, I get a chance to experience the exquisite beauty of living, and all living beings.