The importance of stepping into another's shoes

Crossing Nassau Street tonight in a crosswalk, I was shouted at by an undergraduate in an SUV, whom I had the misfortune of stepping in front of and causing to slow down ever so slightly: "Out of the way, fat-ass!"

I wonder if he gave it a second thought. He certainly seemed to find it amusing. I wonder what sort of me his imagination constructed: greedy at the table, lazy, irresponsible, a slob with poor hygiene? Or perhaps I am giving him too much credit. A pedestrian in a crosswalk inconvenienced him; any insult will do. Perhaps it was an act of completely thoughtless cruelty. Which is worse?

I wonder if he knows that I have been overweight since childhood because of a freak accident that left me on crutches, during which time I gained weight and have ever since been trying to lose. I wonder if he knows that in junior high school my mother took me to a dietician because of high triglyceride counts, with no result. I wonder if he knows that I had weekly sessions with an addiction psychologist during my own undergraduate years, and still nothing. I wonder if he knows that I recently discovered my blood pressure to be 145 over 100 despite a severe diet change over the last few months. I wonder if he knows that I have been on and off of anti-depressant medications in the last four years and am currently trying to do well without them. I wonder if he considered, even for one second, how I felt, and what sort of human might be standing there in the crosswalk. What he said was piercing, and sudden, and its effects will last. I wish I had better control over my reactions. How could one person, in a matter of seconds, cut me so badly?

Making fun of obesity is among the last refuges for the cruel to taunt safely. Can you imagine any people other than the overweight who could be so silently and acceptably stereotyped and maligned in our culture today? And don't tell me it's our own fault. I know that with heroic effort our size could be controlled — for some of us anyway. But is the taunting our fault? For that matter, have you ever faced this particular struggle? Smoking is your own fault, too, and just as medically expensive; it only happens to be glamorous.

A friend and I were once talking about the beautiful people, and I told her that although they seem to have things together from all appearances, they surely must have some serious and deeply conflicted problems we don't see. Without hesitation she told me simply, "No, they're fine." I thought about it for a moment. "You know, they are fine, aren't they?" I said. They're fine. And I imagine that that well-built young undergraduate who shouted at me is having fun tonight — as I sit here and type and try to get some of what I'm feeling onto a page and out of my mind where it has been whispering in my ears ever since I got home. He will take his SUV and leave Princeton with many, many options for his future — some of them involving quite a good deal of money — and he may be one of the beautiful people for a long time. I know that he will eventually suffer in this world, and to be honest, I do not rejoice in that fact. I only wish that my own suffering had not been a cause for so much merriment to him.

Whoever you may be reading this, please do something for yourself and for all the rest of us. When you leave Princeton, leave here as a better person, a more compassionate person and a more thoughtful person. Don't just leave here as a more credentialed person.

(The columnist is a graduate student. He can be reached through newsroom@princeton.edu)