Have you ever read those stories with good people and bad ones. Or maybe you read stories where there were only good ones. And you knew that if someone is a complete opposite of a depicted character, then that person is bad.
The other day I was reading a story talking about a woman who lost everything she had. She was fired from a job and her husband left her for another woman. She was 40 + years old (which is not considered pretty old according to the Russian standards) and had no kids to help her financially. The only job she got offered was a driver’s job for a children’s train in a shopping mall. And she took it. It didn’t promise much money, because the shopping season was over, and there were almost no ridders for the train in the mall. One day a man with a blind son got a ticket to ride this train. And the women not only let the father on the train (although adults were not allowed on it), she also drove them for 5 or even 10 circles around the mall instead of 1. The story ends with the man marrying the woman and creating a family of 3.
While I was reading the story I secretly wished to be like that kind woman, who so selflessly shared everything she had to just make someone else’s life a little better. Doesn’t everyone want to be all that good and to serve as an example for other people? I did! And I almost started to believe that I am like that woman from the story. I was almost sure that if I was in that situation, I would be as kind and as selfless as her. I was ALMOST sure when I realized that something didn’t feel right.
On the back of my mind I had another picture of myself in that situation. And I was almost afraid to really look at it because it would show myself not letting the man on the train and driving the boy only for one circle and not for 5 or 10. I’m afraid I would be holding onto this piece of good and wouldn’t be able to give out more of it than what was paid for. This second picture was so unpleasant to look at, but something was telling me that it’s true. That I’m not that good, and I am selfish, I would want to keep whatever pressures I had and would not share it with anyone, especially if it’s the only thing I had left.
Then I asked myself, if I’m not any of those all good characters from the stories and when I read them I only come to recognize it, why do I keep reading them? Why do I read more of them if I know that I will only feel guilty and ashamed of myself? Is it just some kind of sadistic joy that I get out of it?
No, it’s not.
I think I keep reading such stories to feel the difference, to keep realizing that I’m not that all good person. And I may never be them. But as long as I can distinct, what is good, even though it’s ideal, and what is bad, and as long as I want to move in that direction, I feel that there’s hope.
It’s so hard to be ideal, all good, or all selfless. I'm not one of those people. I’m just a normal person trying to be better. As long as I recognize that, I am not bad.
Автор- Everyday Psychology