Blog 43: A Punch in the Stomach

Most people who have known me for a few years know that I haven't always been the most patient or kind person on the planet in the past. My teenage years saw me behaving rather beastly (and not in a good way). Since then, so much of me has changed. I'm barely the same person any more, and I hold on to the hope that this metamorphosis has brought more good than bad. Lately, something else has become a recurring theme in my daily life--and I honestly can't decide if I like it.

For the past month or so, I've found it so much easier to deal with people. I love talking to customers at Starbucks, I can refrain from retaliating when a person is rude, and I find myself shrugging off the things that make me angry within a few short moments. Of course, this is a vast improvement. The part of this new-found gentleness (I guess I'd call it, for lack of a better word) that I am ambivalent about is this gut-wrenching compassion that I keep feeling at random times. I've always been a bit tender-hearted, even in my meaner days. Movies, sappy songs, sweet gestures, or seeing a man cry are all things that will make me lose the ability to remain detached and composed.

Of late, however, I find that it's just about every other person I see that stirs a strong feeling of empathetic sadness--the technologically helpless old man I spoke to at Talbot's apologetically sending a late birthday gift to his daughter, the regular customers of ours who have recently lost their jobs; even this man who, after snapping at me for getting his drink wrong, realized I had gotten it right and got super embarrassed, awkwardly muttering excuses. It's not just an "aww" moment I've been having, either. I've found myself surveying a crowd and approaching the point of tears. It has made me drastically change the way I respond to humanity, but at the same time, it's sort of making me feel like I'm losing my mind. I love the happiness that comes from being able to enjoy people despite their shortcomings, but I don't know if I can handle this "just got punched in the stomach" feeling every time I come in contact with an unhappy or disadvantaged person. For my own part, I'm very happy with my life right now, despite the financial hiccups and chronic car issues (a feeling I'm not used to), but for theirs--I want to do something. I want to fix it somehow. I can give them a discount, maybe. I can make them laugh. But it doesn't feel like enough. Nothing is cut and dry anymore. I imagine their stories and why they are the way they are. How can there be so many bitter and disillusioned people and no remedy that they will accept?

My roommate can attest to the fact that I'm "on the edge" as I call it, at any given moment. We both almost cried when our obviously inexperienced waiter kept messing up our order and getting embarrassed the other night. It was sad and funny, though, as we kept talking about how sorry we felt for the poor little dear, alternately laughing and uttering "awws." It's much easier to feel this strongly for people when it's a shared burden. I don't know where this is coming from or if I can take it much longer. A friend from work suggested: "Maybe it's the Ghost of Christmas Past!" Maybe it is. Maybe it's some apparition making me do penance for all the times in my life that I've been a selfish or impatient jerk. haha. Regardless, I love and hate it. It's a good sort of pain, I think, and I hope that doesn't come across in an emo-kid sort of way. At this point, I suppose I'm just going to roll with it and enjoy the rollercoaster ride it brings.