I have a confession to make: I think I stole money from a homeless person.
You're judging me right now, aren't you?
Fair enough, but allow me to explain before you call me horrible and condemn me to a life full of heartbreak and Nickleback songs.
Every morning, I run down Sunset Cliffs Boulevard past a church where people who are homeless gather in the morning to get breakfast. A few days ago, about half a block past the church, I found $5 on the ground. I stopped to pick it up, then looked back at the masses of people waiting to be fed and briefly thought about the fact that one of them probably had dropped it. But how would I figure out who? I didn't pause for very long. It was cold, and the contemplation was making me stiffen up as well as killing my pace. I clutched the money in my hand and ran away, giving thanks to God for the money, laughing at the poor sucker who dropped it.
Okay, maybe one of those things I didn't really do.
The thing is...I seem to have a knack for finding money. It's like a special talent of mine, like how I can remember birthdays of people I went to Kindergarten with, or how I make jokes at the most inappropriate times (like when my friend confessed she had a new boyfriend and I asked if she had warned him about the side effects of her depression medication and she told me she regretted telling me about the medication and my reaction was to laugh awkwardly, not immediately say sorry like a normal person would).
But I digress.
The point is...I wanted to give that money to someone else. I reasoned that, while the homeless are certainly needy, they were at least being fed and wouldn't miss that $5. So I ran 5 miles with it in my hand, contemplating how to give it away.
I settled on dropping it at the local coffee shack, telling the baristas to buy someone a coffee and give themselves a tip. Less than two hours later, someone brought me a coffee, proof that Karma really does exist...or maybe just that I'm good at guilt-tripping people into bringing me coffee at work because gosh I just work so hard and get up so early and do you see these bags under my eyes I need all the caffeine and some really good concealer, please.
Just two days before that, that awful Monday after the time change, I had set out for my run, thinking about how tired I was, both physically and emotionally. I thought about my job teaching at an inner-city school and how much energy it takes. I thought about the girls in my girl's group and how troubled some of them are and how sometimes it's just this huge life-sucking battle because maybe they don't really want the help, or are just not ready.
And I realized something...I can't save everyone. I can't save anyone, in fact, because that's not up to me. It's up to each person to decide their own fate. And I guess I'm just no longer willing to spend excessive amounts of time, money, or energy on people who aren't interested in helping themselves.
Now, before you judge me further, know that I believe there is a place for helping the needy. Of course there is. We all deserve basic rights and privileges. We should all have shelter and food and love and at least three (or in my case like 100) pairs of shoes to choose from on any given day.
That's not what I'm talking about.
I'm talking about how I want to make the world a better place given where I am in life. What I know about myself is that I'm happiest when I'm helping make other people happy. I believe when we are happy it is contagious. Happiness fueled by passion can spread like wildfire. It's a ripple effect, like how when the butterfly flaps its wings in Africa it causes a storm in California and that's the reason I didn't blow dry my hair in the morning. Then again, some might not call that the Butterfly Effect. Some would call it sheer laziness.
The point is, I wanted to magnify the effects of that $5, and in my mind, maybe whomever received that coffee would do something kind for someone else...and then that person would do a nice act etc etc etc and now the world is full of sunshine and people with jitters from too much free coffee.
I have no idea if that's what happened, but I like to believe it is.
I like to believe that it's okay that I feel my focus on helping people isn't necessarily on feeding the hungry, it's on uplifting those who just need a little push...so that maybe, just maybe, they'll go on to uplift someone else and collectively, we'll all climb to this magical place where everything is gold, where having beer and cookies for dinner doesn't make you fat.
So maybe I'm judging homeless or needy people here, thinking they're not in a place to help others. But I know so many people in the world are there to help them that I want to help elsewhere. It's on a different level, but it's still giving, right? Maybe helping people doesn't have to mean just feeding the hungry or giving clothes to those in need. Maybe for me it means teaching a young girl how to have a voice. Maybe it means buying a stranger a cup of coffee. Maybe it simply means smiling at those I come in contact with and just treating everyone like they matter. \
I'm writing this not to make myself seem bad or judgmental, though maybe I have succeeded in doing just that, but to maybe spark some conversation or thought in all of us about the level of how and where and why we give. On knowing ourselves and our unique skill sets and talents, and seeing where that fits into raising the world's vibe. On thinking about what are are contributing as citizens of the world.
Tis the season, after all.
