My Compassion Is Failing Me Where It Matters Most
I don’t care like I used to, and that actually matters
A week ago, I ran into some friends from high school. I hadn’t seen the family in at least a decade, but I knew, through the magic of social media, that one of them is currently battling terminal brain cancer. I wished I had the words to say something profound to him, but what do you say? Words fail, even for Hallmark. So, we had a friendly catch-up, and then he mentioned his family was in the market for a new nanny. Would you be interested? prodded his sister, we would pay you.
“Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?’ “ Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
I offered some vague response, saying I could certainly help on a temporary basis if needed. I’m miles from being a professional nanny, and I have my hands full with my own toddler. I had good reasons for not jumping in whole-hog. But really, my response was lukewarm and lacked my usual willingness to help. These days, most things do.
The incident gave me pause. Here was an opportunity to help a friend and community member during an incredibly difficult period for his family. And I just … didn’t. It wasn’t like me.
