In this day and age of mistrust, is compassion conditional? And if you live long enough, you've known the pain and experience of trusting the wrong person which you were rewarded with betrayal and hurt.
Kinda doesn't incentify you to show compassion and/or present an olive branch to the next person when called upon.
Recently I had spirited conversation with a good, and dear friend of mine about compassion. I was pro-compassion without condition. My parents taught me, especially my mother, that if I don't have a good reason not to help someone who's asked for it, then your answer should be yes.
Easier said than done, though, right?
Damn, right! I still helped in my way, and richly rewarded with more than I imagined. But that's how compassion / Karma / whatever you sow you reap pays you back. I smiled and retort, but you don't help with the thought of what's-in-it-for-me. Or do you?
Or is it how much am I risking to lose?
Or how much my trust in the human race will be further damaged?
I didn't want to think about that because those are conditions. The what-if statements and/or safe conditions of compassion. You either help or don't - fairly simple again.
Tonight was a different level of compassion. You see, when WCP and I drive to a home match for the Sounders there's a particular parking area we frequent. The parking lot attendant is a self-made man, always jovial when we drive up, and while briefly interacting with him, was pleasant. He explain to us one afternoon that he purposely chose this plot of land, and undercut the area competition by $5 to fill up his lot an hour before the match so he can go home and watch it.
Brillant!
WCP was bombing around in the now-dubbed Dodge Grand Caravan, Dash. The usual price of $5 under (it was actually $5) sign was posted. The attendant was someone I've never met. I remarked where's the usual guy, and that you look vaguely like him.
He answered, "That's my son."
"Oh, well that's good. I like that guy. What's he up to tonight since he can't be here?"
A forlorn look washed through his eyes. He frowned, "He died."
I was crushed by the news. A zillion questions was racing for competition out of mouth at once, "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. Can you share with me what happened?"
He eked out the words, "Only that it happened on August 19th."
After we paid, I quipped again, "I'm so sorry for your loss. I liked that guy, I really did."
We walked off into the night to our Sounders match. It gnawed at my conscious all match long. That's just brutal, a father burying their son, regardless of the reason. It's poignant reminder to be kind as much as possible.
To be unconditionally compassionate.
This has been my C Note. Rest in peace, parking lot attendant. May your family (his wife and child, father and mother) and friend find solace someday.
'los; out
Kinda doesn't incentify you to show compassion and/or present an olive branch to the next person when called upon.
Recently I had spirited conversation with a good, and dear friend of mine about compassion. I was pro-compassion without condition. My parents taught me, especially my mother, that if I don't have a good reason not to help someone who's asked for it, then your answer should be yes.
Easier said than done, though, right?
Damn, right! I still helped in my way, and richly rewarded with more than I imagined. But that's how compassion / Karma / whatever you sow you reap pays you back. I smiled and retort, but you don't help with the thought of what's-in-it-for-me. Or do you?
Or is it how much am I risking to lose?
Or how much my trust in the human race will be further damaged?
I didn't want to think about that because those are conditions. The what-if statements and/or safe conditions of compassion. You either help or don't - fairly simple again.
Tonight was a different level of compassion. You see, when WCP and I drive to a home match for the Sounders there's a particular parking area we frequent. The parking lot attendant is a self-made man, always jovial when we drive up, and while briefly interacting with him, was pleasant. He explain to us one afternoon that he purposely chose this plot of land, and undercut the area competition by $5 to fill up his lot an hour before the match so he can go home and watch it.
Brillant!
WCP was bombing around in the now-dubbed Dodge Grand Caravan, Dash. The usual price of $5 under (it was actually $5) sign was posted. The attendant was someone I've never met. I remarked where's the usual guy, and that you look vaguely like him.
He answered, "That's my son."
"Oh, well that's good. I like that guy. What's he up to tonight since he can't be here?"
A forlorn look washed through his eyes. He frowned, "He died."
I was crushed by the news. A zillion questions was racing for competition out of mouth at once, "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. Can you share with me what happened?"
He eked out the words, "Only that it happened on August 19th."
After we paid, I quipped again, "I'm so sorry for your loss. I liked that guy, I really did."
We walked off into the night to our Sounders match. It gnawed at my conscious all match long. That's just brutal, a father burying their son, regardless of the reason. It's poignant reminder to be kind as much as possible.
To be unconditionally compassionate.
This has been my C Note. Rest in peace, parking lot attendant. May your family (his wife and child, father and mother) and friend find solace someday.
'los; out
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