Stopping to Stare
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A Manhattan morning. I hurried down the sidewalk, checking my phone and my watch, dodging cars and strollers and people. The sun was bright. Men in yellow hats drilled through concrete. A bus stopped, tires screeching. A kid sobbed, yanking his mother’s arm, collapsing to the ground. The aroma of fresh-baked bagels spilled from a storefront.
I kept going. But then there were lights. Furious and flashing. I saw red. The red of fire trucks. I stopped. Others stopped around me. We stood, a medley of strangers, looking up. Together, we stared at the long ladder stretching up to the top of the building. We didn’t speak to each other, but shared the same space and likely the same questions.
What happened? Will everyone be okay? Why am I stopped?
After a few minutes, I kept walking. And wondering. Why do we do this? Why do we stop and stare? Is it because we are cruel or just curious? Is it because beneath it all – the clothes and gadgets and efficient smiles and smirks – we are all the same? Do we realize when we see red that it could be us up there needing to be saved, needing for that ladder to reach us?
And why does it take an accident or a fire to make us stop moving, to make us gather together on the cosmic corners of our world?
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When you see an accident or a fire do you stop and stare? Do you think we are wired to do this? Do you think there is anything wrong with doing this?
My gut reaction is actually the opposite — when I see something bad happening, especially a car accident, I look away. And I look away as quickly as possible. I chalk this up mostly to my vivid imagination and propensity to have nightmares… I guess I have no trouble imagining all the terrible things in the world, and I don’t need a live visual to accompany them.
Still, I understand the human need to see what’s going on. Many people want to see if they can help in any way, I’m sure, even if they can’t. And maybe it is just rampant curiosity… no one wants to feel left out of breaking news, I guess.
I struggle in moments like this. Does turning away and continuing with my own preoccupations make me selfish and unfeeling? Or does stopping to watch when there is quite clearly nothing I can do to help make me a meddlesome gawker? I never know. There is something communal about these situations, though. We gather, for our own reasons, and are linked momentarily by something, even if it’s something tragic.
I think about death when I see a sight such as the above or a car accident. Sounds morbid I know, but my mind always goes to the worst place – and death is a curious thing. No one really goes there and then comes back to tell. The ultimate secret.
Depending upon the situation, if I don’t think I can do anything to help, I am also one who looks away.
There is much (of this nature) that I don’t wish to see, fully aware that it exists. I think our media and our culture, the pace at which everything goes by, certainly adds to our apparent insensitivity to accidents and incidents that are tragic.
Until they impact our lives, or people we know and love.
I was just wondering this very thing the other day when we passed a car accident. I think my inclination is to make sure everyone is okay, but I also always take away a reminder about the fragility of life. (Whether that’s a good thing or not, I’m not sure!)
I have to admit, I am one to stop and stare. I wish I wasn’t but it seems to be just inexplicably hardwired in to me. I just want to be there when tragedy strikes. I want to know the details. I want to know I’m safe along with my loved ones. But I also feel an urge to help – to find ways of assisting those who have been somehow harmed. More times than not, there is absolutely nothing I can do but I still can’t help but feel some comfort in being nearby and knowing that I’m ready.