Understanding Vs. Empathy

I've been thinking a lot about the importance of personal experience versus detached observation. 

Example: Before Ma died, I was always awkward in a shiva house. I didn't really know what to say, what to do, and I'm sure my nervousness was obvious. 

Now? I'm part of the club. A shiva call, no sweat! Because, at least, the other person on that low chair knows that I know what it's like. I went to a shiva call for a relative, who had died suddenly. His children were already part of the tribe, repeating the stupidity that other callers came and spewed at them. 

It makes a difference, that shared understanding. 

Take the obvious one, "older singlehood." No matter how much those who married young say they understand, on some level they don't. Heck, I wouldn't have had! If I married at 21 I would have sadly shaken my head at the obviously picky catch who just can't let go of her unreasonable expectations. 

This applies in a multitude of areas.  

Take this one. It's a running joke how militant Ashkenazim can be over baby names. (I say Ashkenazim because Sephardim have a protocol to follow, while we do not.) 

Han and I are big believers in heritage, and we both consider it a great privilege to name our children after our grandparents (both Ben and Anakin are). But some new parents are affronted at any such expectation. "It's my child. How could my parents or in-laws expect me to use their choice of name? How dare they interfere!" 

What those new parents are missing is that they still have their own parents. They don't understand the toll of grief, and how a name can become so important to the one struggling with loss. For them, the name can be a comfort, a balm, to know their beloved's name will continue. 

So I've been concluding that it is impossible to truly understand another's painful journey unless we're in it, too. Empathy goes some distance, but we still don't speak the same lingo.

Tread carefully. And try not to judge too harshly.