Running the World

When I used to run, sometimes I’d step out my front door and run along neighborhood roads. This was economic. Other times I’d run on trails immersed in nature. This was transformative.

The most influential type of running I did was while on vacation or living abroad. During those runs, I’d see the varied world — not through a tourist’s perspective at a splashy attraction, but through small tidbits on local streets, and through the subtle signs of how folks lived their day-to-day.

I never took it for granted that I was able to do such a thing. It gave me an appreciation for humanity I still hold today. Maybe that sounds too simple and rosy, but it’s true. It’s also a superpower of understanding to have.

While my runs were glimpses of small parts of the world, they added up. I didn’t get to know the people or see them necessarily. By running past their homes or cafes or parks, I didn’t come to understand their issues or struggles, hopes or desires. None of that.

Instead, what I saw was evidence of how similar we live to one another, in a very basic way — or so it appeared to me. People don’t look the same or sound the same, but I found they do the same things — which leads me to imagine they probably think or experience a lot of the same things, too.

Simple chores

For example, I found it common that people from far and wide like clean laundry. That might sound silly but think about it for a second. I saw laundry hanging out of windows in Istanbul, on fire escapes in NYC, and stretched along clotheslines in Poland. I saw folks puttering around laundromats in many places.

I figured, if all this laundry is being washed around the world, it’s probably safe to say all kinds of folks think similar things about it, too.

“I better do my laundry today.”

“I forgot to take the laundry out of the washer.”

“Oh shoot. The shoulder seam in my jacket is coming loose.”

Probably folks in vastly different cultures are looking at wear and tear on their garments with the same disappointed look. They might have similar internal debates about how much detergent to use on a load — not too much versus a tinge more. Maybe they have similar contemplations on how they’ll fit this chore into their day.

This is a simple, inconsequential task that reveals a simple — and perhaps consequential — common ground, especially once you add enough of these things together.

Walking about

I ran past all kinds of people strolling. They strolled in Vilnius and stopped to hear the cello player on the cobblestoned street. They walked in the heat along the roads of Belmopan with bags slung over shoulders. They moved in deliberative groups around breezy San Francisco. These are only a few spots of the entire planet where folks walk about, of course.

I can’t know for sure, but I bet as folks around the planet stop to take in the view, go from Point A to B, mosey or walk like a racer, they must be experiencing similar things at some point.

They must be wincing at the pebble in their shoes in the same way, or be distracted by the chafing of their pants, the sliding of their head scarf, the shifting of their skirt, shorts, or sari. People from all around the world must surely be ruminating on what they did or didn’t do according to plan as they walk along.

They’re likely laughing at jokes or noticing the flowers and bees regardless of where those jokes are heard, or bees seen. They’re probably all taken by surprise at that first drop of rain on their skin. And if they’re walking far, they must be equally quenched by a guzzle of water and equally appreciative.

A similar joy

Another common characteristic of the local places I’ve run through is the fact that small kids stick to their parents. I don’t mean by glue, but by love. Every neighborhood or city I’ve explored has small children moving along at the heels of their parents, in their arms, or on their backs.

While parenting styles vary, and cultures are distinct, I imagine these parents nevertheless go through some of the same things. Perhaps they wince at their aching backs under the weight of carrying toddlers. Perhaps they want their distressed child to find peace quickly. Maybe they think about what food they will serve for dinner.

No doubt they’re mindful of safety while their child walks along next to them. And even though parents look so vastly different around the world, they still see perfection in a child’s face, and this makes them feel similar joy.

Food — a common ground

One thing I often saw in any place I visited was folks eating meals together. I’d see this in restaurants in Edinburgh, Toronto, or Riga, in Denver, Tampa, or Boise, you name it. Families, friends, colleagues, and lovers will gather at tables in outdoor cafes or on blankets in a park. They will share precious time together.

They spoke different languages and ate different cuisines. They lived under varying governmental systems. They held a range of belief systems. But they all ate food together and laughed, listened, shared stories, or perhaps even exchanged a few barbs.

Since there was intention in all these gatherings to be together, I had to assume each culturally unique group was enjoying a common sense of community.

Perhaps many of these folks around the globe thanked the cook for the meal, the land or animal which gave of itself, or their god. Perhaps they enjoyed the taste of the food on their tongues or didn’t. Maybe young kids wanted more, or not at all. I’m sure the frail needed the same help to eat the meal regardless of the country in which they lived.

Certainly, conversation varied across the many meals around the planet. Yet, hunger was abated; satisfaction swelled; action was taken to clean up the meal; goodbyes and thank-you’s floated through the air in hopes of another future gathering.

More similar than we realize

The one thing I took from all this running around, taking note of folks going through many of the same daily motions, was that on a basic level we’re more similar than we’re different. We’re similar in the small ways that comprise a day, despite ethnicity, race, class, belief system, or politics.

If you walk around a town or village’s back streets, you’ll start to notice that porches and stoops have a pair of shoes drying, a child’s toy, a shovel or work gloves resting on a chair. You’ll notice in cities and rural areas that cars need washing, mail is being collected, and trash is being disposed of. You’ll see cafes loaded with friends and colleagues. You’ll see parents pushing sleeping babies. You’ll see the elderly making their way on sidewalks.

You’ll see this happening all over the place because we live life in some fundamentally common ways. And why wouldn’t we? We’re all human.