Commute to work.
There’s the middle-aged homeless man, always perched somewhere on this commercial street, who I pass nearly every day. He squints upward at me, and we exchange nods and hellos. From time to time, I’ve given him my spare change, a bottle of water, some clementines from the market.
Today, I smile my usual hello to him in response to his greeting. Our daily call-and-response.
I see a young, bearded man, about 25 years old. I’ve seen him and other chipper young people, wearing a different color vest every couple months, canvassing for clean water, AIDS research, human rights protection… All noble causes that have web sites I can consult for more information. I’m not looking to receive a lecture from a bright-eyed twenty-something about how I should be using my money.
I smile my hello in response to the perched man’s greeting, then see the young man approaching, in his fluorescent yellow vest, arms open wide and incredulous. “How about you give him a sandwich instead of your ‘hello’?” he chastises me in French.
I feign ignorance and reply in English: “No thank you sir, have a good day!”
I walk off, brain buzzing in thought. I wonder why he intervened. I’m sure he thought he was doing the Right Thing. He was so sure that he was justified in confronting me. He decided that I was someone who needed to be put in her place, that I needed a lesson in how to be decent to other people.
In his mind, I’m a cold, uncaring, callous, selfish woman. Am I? In my mind, he’s a self-righteous busybody that projects judgment onto others, which saves him from directing it inward. Is he?
We love weaving narratives from dubious scraps of information.
It comforts us to find a demonstrable cause-effect, an explanation to justify a conclusion we’ve decided. How much of our reality has been decided, packaged and sealed up, and stamped “TRUE” in our brain? No longer subject to analysis or criticism, or even logic, how many of the beliefs that guide our lives have we etched in stone?
That stranger is laughing as I walk by because they’re mocking me.
My friend hasn’t called because I’ve done something wrong and they’re mad at me.
I never win anything because that’s my fate. I was born a Loser.
That dog chose to piss on the tree nearest me as a power move; that dog has it out for me.
My silly brain makes these sorts of little decisions all the time. But I’ve learned it’s generally a good idea to subject them to review before filing them under “TRUE.”