The Alien Tour Guide

I think about what it would be like to be a tour guide for an alien visiting from another planet.

Of all there is about humanity to know, what would I show someone who has absolutely no context about our planet? Where does one even start? What would demonstrate that we're more than just pieces of meat?

We start with the best of what we are. What are the things that show what we are when we are at our best? Or when we are most human? Most humane?

I'd show them the National Parks, often called America's best idea. It shows the care we have for creation, and our appreciation for beauty. I'd show them our most cherished public libraries, demonstrating our commitment to making knowledge accessible, and putting learning at the center of our communities.

I'd take them to a locally loved marathon, like ours in Detroit - because it would show them sport and community at the same time. Marathons are electric places, there are the inspiring runners - who are everyday people - that each have an inspiring story of why they run, thousands of volunteers, people lining the streets and cheering on strangers from their porches. And in Detroit, there's a polka house handing out beer, and a group of people with Scottish heritage handing out whiskey shots to runners going by.

I'd take them to the neighborhoods of our cities, and the community meetings in smaller towns - to see people who look out for others, for no applause or compensation. I'd take them to a wedding, a funeral, and a child's first birthday party so they can see the full spectrum of what love can be.

I'd take them to a local company's production of a Shakespeare classic, as an example of a human condition so timeless people care to share the story centuries later. I'd take them to a water treatment plant to show them we've cared about problems as basic as sanitation for centuries, too.

I'd take them to a backyard bonfire to see friendship at its purest. Or caroling, with people singing for the sheer joy of it and sharing it, to see music at its purest. Or to a playground to see play at its purest. I'd take them to a Thanksgiving dinner to see family, gratitude, and tradition all rolled into one.

The beauty of thinking this way - about being a tour guide to an alien - is that they probably wouldn't care about what's famous. They would care about what's real, and ordinary because those are the things that are universal. And I think these things - the best of who we are - do show that we are more than pieces of meat. Much more.

The best of who we are as human beings, are not big things. They are small moments of beauty, peace, love, service, compassion, and friendship. The best of what we are as a species is not indulgence, or perhaps even innovation. The best of what we are is our humanity, and the small moments where it's most alive.

a simple man’s wish

For what does a man wish, for the people who illuminate him? For the people whose light makes him lighter?

For you, I wish for tears…

…of joy, obviously, because joy isn’t fully known without tears.

…of awe, because to experience beauty and wonder is one of the few things that makes the suffering of this world feel like an even trade.

…of sadness; an old friend once told me that tears are what heal the soul. It’s true.

…over spilled milk, because we must learn the important lesson that it’s not worth crying over.

…of grief; to know that suffocating void means you also know how expansive and glorious love really is.

…of seeing a child play; the laughter and glee of children is one of the few ways to preview what heaven looks like, sounds like.

…of laughter, because you cannot make it — it is literally impossible — without humor and levity.

…of heartbreak, because only after heartbreak do you understand the blessing of being bonded to — and enmeshed in love with — another soul.

…and finally, I wish you tears of gratitude for all the other tears you have shed that have gotten you here.

To be grateful for the suffering and the joy, even when you lie awake with a stomach full of overwhelm and regret, to be able to pray this prayer though you are silently weeping — “Thank you, God, for I am loved” — means that you have been fully alive.