There are things we cannot do. These aren't things that are physically impossible, beyond the boundaries of physical frame. They aren't things beyond the processing power of our minds, nor are they things we cannot understand. They are things that our body and our mind will not allow us to do.
Self-preservation is a very powerful natural instinct. By now, everyone knows the story of Aron Ralston, the hiker that hacked his own arm off when it became lodged beneath a boulder. When hearing this story for the first time, most of us marvel at how a person could do this. The instinct to protect ourselves prevents us from cutting off our own limbs, even staring at certain death. Many also have an intense fear of pain, and for them it might be preferential to starve to death at the bottom of a chasm than to cut off an arm.
We have other instincts of self-preservation, evidence of which we've seen in more movies than 127 Hours. Finding fault in ourselves, in our own actions, seems to be as strongly against our nature as turning a Swiss Army knife on our own flesh. Refusing to criticize our own actions has few noble motivations though, and its results tend more toward self-destruction than self-preservation.
One thing we tell ourselves is that no one cares for us as much as we care for us. We're convinced that even those who are closest to us, when the chips are down, will look out for themselves first, us second.
I remain convinced that every human soul longs for one thing: to know that there is at least one person who loves them more than anything. Ultimately, I think there are few of us that see this realized. We may find someone that will love us, but the shadow of self-interest always lingers on the periphery of the relationship, sometimes spilling over into its confines. Why is it so hard to put ourselves second?
One reason it's so hard to admit fault is that we refuse to acknowledge reality. We're all broken. We're all sinners, and we never get over that in this life. We can struggle against the current of self interest and make small gains in overcoming it, but more often we prefer to tread water and be swept downstream with everyone else. When we can overcome this flaw, it's a beautiful thing. Seeing people seek what's best for others without any personal gain is also a strange thing. It stands out in normal, everyday life, glistening. Some see it and are dumbstruck because it looks so strange, unfamiliar. Others are afraid of it and their fear of the unknown keeps them from venturing into that strange land of selflessness.
Even if you don't have the strength to fight for long, turn and paddle upstream for a while. Freak people out by performing an act for which you gain nothing and in fact may be giving up something for someone else. If someone does something nice for you, pay it forward.
The other day, I was in QT, getting a couple hot dogs and a drink for lunch. At the drink counter, I saw two plain-clothes police officers, getting drinks and perhaps a hot dog or two for themselves. I immediately thought to myself that I'd pay for their stuff along with my own, as an anonymous gift of appreciation ("No names, please."). I stepped up to the counter behind them and was about to make my move when three or four other people stepped into the line behind me. I chickened out. My fear of what those behind me might think disabled me, I'm ashamed to say.
I need to think differently, I suppose, about how good actions might be perceived by others. I need to think more like a Liberty Mutual commercial. Watch these:
Commercial #1
Commercial #2
