I’ve never really thought of myself as the “positive” type, but I suppose I’m sort of positive and hopeful when it comes to strangers.
I noticed that the dynamic between a person and a stranger can vary greatly. For example, my friend Stephen is extremely polite to strangers-- you never know who this stranger might become to you, or what a simple act of kindness can do for this stranger, or even for yourself. On the other hand, I know far too many people who don’t feel that they need to be kind to a stranger precisely for the fact that they are a stranger. What benefit could they bring to your life?
I don’t particularly feel that I’m nice to strangers (though I don’t think I mean mean either), but I do have pleasant thoughts and wishes for their lives. I wonder if this counts. It seems like a good foundation (my existential and philosophical philanthropy) to legitimize my passion to improve others’ lives (or in other words, a nice excuse to make me feel good about my career/life path). Especially in college, I wondered why such a witch like me wanted to do something good for other people. I questioned myself a lot. My own mother questioned me when I told her my decision to do AmeriCorps. A couple months ago, after a horrific argument I was a part of that made me realize I was the worst person I could be, I asked my mom if she thought I was a bad person. It’s a stupid question to ask the woman who birthed and raised you, but I found plenty of reasons why she could say that I actually am a bad person. I wanted to hear her say it, or even reflect on the question, but without hesitation, she came to my defense.
At least four out of the five work days, I observe the people sitting in front of me on the train home. As I work the typical 9 to 5, it is likely that my fellow passengers have just finished a day of work when I, too, am headed home. There is a difference in the passengers’ posture, their expressions, and their overall demeanor when they are on the train home as opposed to being on the train to work. My favorite people to observe are the passengers who don’t do anything: no earphones, no book, no phone. Just sitting there thinking about something. The many people I’ve seen who cover their eyes with their hands, or stare blankly while muttering mental to-do lists, or just look pensive, always make me think about their lives outside of the train. Who are they going home to? What are they stressed about? Are they lonely? Are they happy with their lives?
Although I don’t interact with them, my hopeful thought for them is that they have something to look forward to at the end of the day, and something that drives them to wake up every morning.
