In praise of sensitive people

There is another short article by Eleanor Robertson in the latest Frankie magazine, called An Ode to Sensitive Friends, that I appreciated. What I appreciated about this article, apart from the fact that it made me chuckle, is that it recognises that there are people with talents and gifts and capabilities, necessary to the survival of the human race, for which they are never going to receive accolades or good grades or financial reimbursement. Here is an excerpt from it:

Picture from here.

The work of the sensitive friend is hard to value objectively, because there is no yardstick for harmony or wellbeing. My sensitive friends can’t front up to the Senate Committee For Generally Feeling Loved and Taken Care Of to deliver a submission outlining quantitative improvements they’ve made in the fields of Neurosis Husbandry and Setting of Personal Boundaries. Nobody’s going to give them a bravery award for digging me out from a pile of coats and pep-talking me through a break-up. They’re not going to get a High Distinction or a pay rise for listening to me make sad little “merrhh” noises whenever I have to make a grown-up phone call; and there’s no professional recognition available for having an emotional first aid kit comprehensive enough to handle death, disease, and the destruction of favourite items of clothing ...

By comparison, my feelings toolkit consists of one slip of paper bearing the instructions: ‘1. Apply alcohol; 2. I’m sure you can take it from there, chief.’ ... Sometimes I supplement this strategy by clumsily hugging them, or telling them that they are undoubtedly ‘a good egg’. I haven’t yet resorted to, ‘Chin up son, tomorrow’s a new day’, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. It’s in these moments that I truly appreciate the existence of people with a more empathetic understanding of humanity. People who know the difference between lilac and mauve, people who have more than one godchild, people who send thank-you notes. Bloom on, you delicate flowers.