14 Aug How to Care Without Carrying
It was rush hour in New York City, traffic at a near standstill as a dreary rain soaked the streets. The crosstown bus was filled with people who were cold, tired, and ready to be home. The air felt heavy with impatience. Two men barked at each other over a shove that might or might not have been intentional. A pregnant woman got on, and no one looked up from their phones to offer a seat. Everyone seemed locked inside their own bubble of frustration.
Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love, once told the story of what happened next.
As the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver’s voice came over the intercom.
“Folks,” he said in a clear, calm voice, “I know you’ve had a rough day and you’re frustrated. I can’t do anything about the weather or the traffic, but here’s what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand. Don’t take your problems home to your families tonight. Just leave them with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I’ll open the window and throw your troubles in the water.”
Passengers glanced up and around, curious and a little unsure if he meant it.
At the next stop, just as promised, the driver reached out his hand, palm up, and waited. One by one, commuters mimed dropping their burdens into his hand as they exited. He did it again at the next stop. And the next.
When his route took him past the Hudson River, he rolled down the window and tossed his hand into the cold air, sending those collected troubles into the water below.
That’s where Gilbert’s story ends. But for me, it’s what the driver chose not to carry that lingers most.
It would have been easy for the driver to take in the frustration around him and carry it as his own. He could have brought that tension home, stomping into the house and snapping at his family.
But he chose not to suffer with them. Instead, he created a safe place for people to set their troubles down without letting that energy live in him. His stance was both protective and helpful, offering something to ease their day without making it his own burden.
That is a boundary many of us struggle with, especially if we are naturally compassionate. We confuse empathy with taking on someone else’s pain, and before long, we are worn down. Accurate empathy is not about soaking up suffering like a sponge. It is about holding out a hand while staying steady yourself.
That kind of empathy is good for us and good for the people around us. It is the choice the driver made that day—to meet frustration with steadying presence instead of joining in. Sometimes the most helpful thing we can do is offer an outstretched hand for someone’s troubles, giving them space to lay it down for a moment while knowing it is not ours to keep.