Sans Self.

You’re strolling down an empty sidewalk, dead in the middle of the decade’s worst known winter. Hands tightly clasped for much-needed warmth, teeth still chattering into the night. With each breath you let out a stream of recycled air, watching closely as the vapors instantly turn greyish white. You promptly see it’s similarities with aging and let yourself a chuckle. For some reason, something as simple as warm breath in cold weather always seems so fascinating.

Your tired legs carry you forward without thought, as they’ve always done. Your mind scours the dark depths of your cortex hoping to latch onto a single non-negative thought for the rest of the day.

Survival is about sanity now more than ever.

Among all the bland and bleak images of flickering lights, unkempt tramps and littered streets, you catch sight of a little pup just ahead. Dimly lit and obviously abandoned, it’s collar shimmers in the darkness. A speck of brown occupying the plain midnight canvas. The whole scene brought to life by a faint but steady breath.

Squinting further, you notice him trembling with visible distress, even from that distance. As if controlled by an unnatural force, you suddenly feel a sadness take over you. You tread on, this time aware of where your legs need to take you.

As you inch closer he takes notice of you, shakily willing himself up on all fours. He doesn’t seem to be aggressive, just hurt. Yet for some reason, his eyes are those of someone hopeful. Even when fully standing up he barely reaches a few inches above your ankle. Bruised and beaten, he still wishes to live. And to love. 

Your body squats down next to him on the dirty tiles beneath, next to the crumbs of stale bread most likely left there by another generous soul. The stench of his urine hits you hard and fast, his body is soaked in his filth. You realize it was only to keep himself warm. Your heart sinks. How cruel this world is to bestow such hardship on a baby like him!

Steadily moving your hand ever so slightly in his direction, you hope for a quick and comforting friendship. But he doesn’t move. All he does is quietly close his eyes as if he were saying goodbye. As if in preparation for the last bit of affection he would ever feel. Who in their right mind would still be willing to interact with the very same world that rejected him?

As you gently stroke his head, you sense a tear roll down your cheek. It feels like an injustice, to see him so undeserving of a miserable future. And that’s when the seemingly positive force inside you takes over any and all rationality. You decide you’re not too young to adopt early. From that day onwards, you choose to offer your time and your help to this youngling, to make the world bearable for him. If only a little more.

And so you pick up newly named Taco and head off, already feeling a little less shitty about everything, already imagining your future together as parent and child. Morning walks and training and play-time. How wonderous the life of a pet owner might be!

You feel amazing. And so does Taco. And all because you were selfless when you needed to be.

But then, like an annoying itch, a disturbing thought pops in your head.

Why did you actually do it? Or rather…for whom?

Isn’t the reason why you decided to help, was so you would feel less crappy? Think about it. Every time we do something selfless, isn’t it just for our own happiness? So we don’t have to subject ourselves to the sight of something horrendously inhumane. Or even worse, the relatable thought that we don’t want to be perceived as just one of the spectators of injustice?

Wasn’t this whole ordeal because of your need for happiness and to distract yourself from the many things in your life that also need attention?

Maybe there is no one thing. Neither selfishness nor selflessness. Maybe they’re one and the same. After all, they both express feelings originating from or directed to the ‘self’.

Or maybe true selflessness is devoid of any joy to the doer. Not just thinking for the despaired but as them too. Instead of taking Taco as your own, making the effort to find his mother, or friends, or a better home.

Consciously avoiding the mistake of thinking that your happiness is in their happiness.

Because that introduces bias. And that bias only makes you selfish.

To really help the downtrodden, you can’t think about how you would feel. You must discard the self and accept responsibility as an enabler, not a participant. You have no place in their story, except as the occasional inspiration or the caring conscience.