In advance, if this seems to get to be emotional it's because I'm exhausted and it's been a long day. So, I'm sorry. I'm also typing on the phone, so technologal limits will probably make this story kind of sucky. Also, this post is a bit out of character for me, because while I'll openly talk about virtues such as charity, sacrifice, etc., I personally feel that personal acts are between me and those I'm helping. There's a moral to this one though, from my mother no less, so I figure it's important to tell the story behind it.
I drive a long stretch of highway every day, to get to and from work. There's always trash on the side of the road, everything you can imagine from fast food bags and plastic bottles full of spit to mattresses and pieces of large furniture. More surprising than anything is the number of cars left on the side of the road for days and days until they're inevitably towed away. There's also the ever present roadkill from raccoons and possums to coyotes and deer. Every now and again you'll see house pets, mostly cats but sometimes dogs. Some might be strays or escape artists that meet untimely deaths, but knowing people, some are definitely abandoned.
The first few times I saw a dog on the side of the road, I was shocked and upset. After a while I got used to seeing them and while they saddened me, I became numb to the sights. I feel really shitty typing that out, but it's the truth. If I let every sad thing I see on the road side get to me, I'd go crazy. I think anyone would.
Tonight, driving home from work, I saw something that brought back that sense of shock. I caught something out of the corner of my eye, on the side of the walking against the traffic. I only saw it for a second or two, but there was no mistaking what it was. A puppy, pitch black with medium length fur and large dingo ears. A beautiful, beautiful puppy.
Without even thinking I drove straight ahead, keeping my eyes out for the next exit. I thought for a minute about calling the police to let them know about it, but I knew they wouldn't be able to do anything. So I called my wife. No answer. She's probably asleep. So I called again. And again. Six times I called and six times she didn't answer. My call history is my witness, I tried to inform her in advance.
As I was driving, I was thinking I was crazy. I've picked up stranded people before, sure. But this was a puppy. It might bite me, hell it might have rabies. It might piss or shit all over my car. It might even be ferel. I didn't care. I was driven. I had to help this thing. I couldn't forgive myself if I didnt.
After what seemed forever, I had circled back and at this point, I was driving along the side of the road at about 50 miles and hour, slow enough to keep an eye out for it but fast enough to not be a hazard to other traffic. After what seemed like an hour, I finally saw it, on the side of the road trotting along.
I pass it up and pull to the side of the road behind it, for fear of hitting it if I tried otherwise. I got out and it was about 20 yards away, almost directly under a street lamp. I finally got a good look at the thing. It was probably no more than half a knee high, maybe 15 or 20 pounds. It's coat looked nice and we'll kept and it didn't look skinny, so I doubted it was feral.
I started walking towards it and the thing kept on walking, not even noticing me. The cars were coming at a steady rate and suddenly the dangers of three tons of steel coming at me at 65 mph popped into my head. I. Am. Crazy. I could get killed out here. The puppy could definitely get killed out here. So I call to it, but it doesn't hear me over the sound of the traffic. I start to trot to it, closing the gap between us. Once I think I'm close enough for it to hear me, I call out to it again and again until it finally turns and notices me.
Then it starts running. So I start running, in shoes that aren't made for running, in a body that's not made for running. I suddenly start to hurt, my feet, my knees, my chest. I noticed but didn't care. I had to get my hands on this puppy. Nothing else mattered.
After what seemed like only a few moments, it came to a break in the concrete wall and slipped into the woods. My heart shattered. I made up my mind right then and there that I was going to try again, circle back the highway in hopes it would come back out. When I turned to head back to my car I realized two things. One, I was after this dog for longer than I though because my car was a quarter mile away. Two, I'm a fucking idiot because my cellphone was still in the car and my keys were still in the ignition. At least I remembers to put on my hazard lights.
So, once again in pain, I started running. This time to my car. Just praying to God no one would take it in the span of two minutes it would take me to get to it. Not likely, but I really like that car, so it was a bit of a concern.
Once in it, I started again with heading down to the nearest exit to turn around and find the dog again. No dice. My heart sank. My only relieving thought is knowing that if for nothing else, it's safe from the traffic st the moment.
I thought about a lot on the drive home. I don't remember exactly what about. War. Hunger. Unloved dogs. I cried, not much, just a tear or two, but enough to make me feel embarrassed for myself.
Everyone was in bed by the time I got home, but I just felt awful all over. Sick to my stomach levels of awful. I needed to talk to someone about tonight, to vent. So I did what any grown man would do in my situation. I called my mother. I told her everything. About the puppy. My irrational desire to want to help it. My frustration at failing. Knowing that in the big picture of things, it's just one puppy, but in the moment it felt like everything.
She told me two things. It's easy for us to become numb to the struggles of the world. In the small moments though, it's important to act, because everything that is big and important is made up of those small moments. The good things that we do in those small moments creates the environment we need to build to great things that affect us all. Similarly, there's gonna be heartbreak. There's gonna be the puppy that runs away in fear because it doesn't know any better. Just as finding the strength to help is important, so is finding the strength to deal with the heartbreak so we can continue to try to help again and again. The moment and the desire to help matter just asuch as the puppy itself.
Plus, she said, dogs are pretty smart. It'll probably make it through the night. There's another dog that will always have my love. It's waiting for me at home every day.
I think I saw an old neighbor homeless on the street. I was on my way to the doctor. Got off the Gold Line, walked up the avenue, it was stupid hot, stopped in the gas station to grab a bottle of powerade, and there sleeping on a cot on the side of the road under a tree was Paul. At least, it looked like Paul. Paul was Section 8 back when I lived in North Hollywood. His dad flew fighters in Korea, which means he wasn't as old as he looked. He lived with his wife downstairs and kitty-corner from me, across the hall from the meth addict. I helped them hook up their ATSC/NTSC converter so they could keep getting broadcast television on their fading, dimming projection TV. Paul would regale me with tales of his father's daring-do because I worked in the "industry", you see. I'd write it, he'd help me out, we'd split the profits. It was a great tale that needed to be told. His eyes would brighten up and he'd shake photocopies at me, but I was never allowed to take them. Most of the time he smelled of cheap beer. I would run into them occasionally at the Mexican Wasteland Target (so named because nobody white shopped there, and it was so poorly stocked that I actually had to assemble a thermos one time from random parts scattered about in a bin) but then I determined it was worth driving the extra three miles to go to the one erected on the site of the former Lockheed Skunk Works. There's another tale there, but oh well. Paul's wife hit the emergency room a couple times while I lived there. She had trouble walking after. I suspected it was diabetes taking her down but you don't ask these sorts of things. You just express sympathy and hope for the best. I saw her infrequently. Paul mostly started running the errands. To the best of my knowledge they had a car but eventually it stopped moving. Paul gave me a rug doctor once. No idea why. He liked me. I moved out. I gave him the rug doctor back because where we were moving we had hardwood. A light went out of Paul's eyes. I took his number, he took mine. I wasn't going to call him but I figured he'd call me. He didn't. Even though I gave him a drill. Because these are our rituals. Move across town, never see each other again. I don't know that it was Paul, there under a tree in 104 degree weather, taking a nap against the world on a Tuesday afternoon. I'd get a better chance on my way back. I worried about it my entire appointment - do I say hello? Do I wake him up? Do I strike up a conversation? What do I owe Paul, as a former neighbor? What do I owe Paul as a fellow human being? What can I really do to help Paul? How far am I willing to go to help him? I realized about 20 feet past him, sleeping there under the tree, that every homeless person I've never looked at was Paul to somebody. When I was done with my doctor's appointment the cot was still there, but the man was not. I don't know that it was Paul. I don't know that it wasn't Paul. I know that if I got booted out of my shitty North Hollywood apartment when my wife died, and my car didn't work, and I was largely unemployable, that Pasadena maybe isn't a bad place to be. And I don't know that Paul didn't have anybody in his social safety net, but I know he had no kids. And I remember watching the light go out of his eyes when I moved away forever. It's been on my mind ever since. Every person on the street is somebody's Paul. And I need to do more. I'm not sure how yet. I know for damn sure it doesn't involve calling my mother, so you got that on me at least.
rd95: kleinbl00: I think we become mentally paralysed because, you just can't help everyone or everything you care about. In India I was somehow proud of how I'd managed not to let all the poverty, misery and suffering affect me, albeit a big mental struggle. On the day we left, I had a small bag of left over fruit and food we'd bought and saw a small girl come up to the car as we were on the way to the airport, so I opened the window and handed her the bag. She immediately rushed to the curbside and five or six other kids appeared from nowhere to her side, and she shared it all with them. The fact they were all obviously starving and she still shared her bounty with the rest of them somehow broke the floodgates and left me in silent tears. I spoke to a friend who's spent a lot of time travelling through India with a small disaster relief organisation and asked him how he coped and how you decide who to help and who not to help. He said it's impossible, so I asked him what can you do? He replied "You just help this one and that's all you can do" by which he meant since you can't help everyone, just focus on helping where you can and let that be enough. It doesn't solve the problem of choice, but it helped break that paralysis of what to do in the face of overwhelming need. After a while I got used to seeing them and while they saddened me, I became numb to the sights. I feel really shitty typing that out, but it's the truth. If I let every sad thing I see on the road side get to me, I'd go crazy. I think anyone would.
It's been on my mind ever since. Every person on the street is somebody's Paul. And I need to do more. I'm not sure how yet.
I spent a year leading a group of a young people in a program of community service. Sometimes the work was easy and everyone got helped, and on those projects, morale was high. Other times, we found ourselves hopelessly discouraged. Everything we did was like a drop in the ocean. So there's a story we learned and told ourselves. It's incredibly trite, but we often found ourselves thinking "starfish, starfish" just to keep going. She had been doing this for some time when a man approached her and said, “Little girl, why are you doing this? Look at this beach! It's littered with starfish for miles in every direction. You can’t save them all. You can’t begin to make a difference!” The girl seemed crushed, suddenly deflated. But after a few moments, she bent down, picked up another starfish, and hurled it as far as she could into the ocean. Then she looked up at the man and replied, “I made a difference to that one.” The old man looked at the girl and thought about what she had done and said. Inspired, he joined the little girl in throwing starfish back into the sea. Soon others joined, and all the starfish were saved.A young girl was walking along a beach upon which thousands of starfish had been washed up during a terrible storm. When she came to each starfish, she would pick it up, and throw it back into the ocean. People watched her.
While I have nothing profound to add to this thread, nor do I think any psychoanalysis is even appropriate. But, I'll write that this anecdote's theme was the very first thing I had thought about whilst finishing reading up. And I saw it come together as such: It's not completely in the same dimension, but I think it's worth mentioning I've read similar words here on Hubski already: Every person on the street is somebody's Paul. And I need to do more. I'm not sure how yet.
It's easy for us to become numb to the struggles of the world. In the small moments though, it's important to act, because everything that is big and important is made up of those small moments.
You just help this one and that's all you can do" by which he meant since you can't help everyone, just focus on helping where you can and let that be enough. It doesn't solve the problem of choice, but it helped break that paralysis of what to do in the face of overwhelming need.
Small changes and careful actions can be enough to start making a difference without driving yourself crazy.
That is when I realized that if i had started to change myself, I could change my family, who could change my community, who could change my city, who could change my country, who could change the world. --- I've quoted that here a few times before. I truly do believe that small change can lead to big change, and indeed that small change is the only way to create lasting big changes. I think that all of these quotations are evoking that idea - small change leading to big change.First I tried to change the world. When I realized I couldn't do that, I tried to change my country. When I realized that that too, was impossible, I tried to change my city. When I realized the futility of that, I tried to change my family. This was of no use, so I tried to change myself.
Thanks for posting it again for fresh eyes like myself. In a semi-haunting juxtaposition, for some weird ass reason my brain made the connection of Martin Niemöller's "First they came...". I guess the similarity lies in an individual's power/voice in the face of great opposition or inertia. I can see especially lately why you'd have quoted such before granted quite a few posts and/or comments I've read around hubski with regard to our varying levels of awareness in relation to direct to take either in our lives or moral dilemmas. The more recent example being rthomas6's post, and the highly relevant reply from _thoracic....I've quoted that here a few times before.
To kind of bounce off of and add to bhrgunatha, things like homelessness and poverty are pretty big and hard to handle as a society, let alone for individuals. Giving to charitable organizations and outreach programs is one of the best ways to help. They often have the resources and the know how to make a single dollar stretch to seem like it's five dollars. They have people who are knowledgeable about the issues they're trying tackle and have the experience to help others best figure out how to help themselves. Just as important, organizations are much better equipped to help both their employees as well as the people who need help deal with the emotional burden of what ever it is they're trying to tackle. They're not all perfect and some are more effective than others, but they're a huge help. I think one of the best things you can do is to know some of these places. If you see someone you know who needs help, or someone you don't know who needs help, you can point them in the direction of people who are there for them. I think you as an individual would do exceptionally well at something like that. You're confident enough to not let issues scare you. You're charismatic and great with words. You seem to know how to network really well and you have a good eye for figuring what's legit and what's not worthwhile. I half bet with a little research, you could find all sorts of people in LA and Seattle that do a world of good. Most importantly, and I'm sure you know this, being a good dad will help more than you ever think. If you and your wife are able to pass on your values and your strengths to your daughter, she's gonna grow up to be awesome. That's what this world needs. Awesome people.
The author Neil Gaiman did the same thing. But he was successful at catching the dog, which became Cabal, and changed his life. And because this is the internet, I'll one-up your story... It turns out that in a war zone, when the bombs start blowing up everywhere, and gunfire is going off, and your owners are completely out of their minds with stress and panic, you, the dog, find a way to get out of the house and run away from the chaos and noise. And then your family leaves their home because the Serbian army is rolling into town and flattening everything and blowing everything up, so when you, the dog, eventually emerge from the forest a few weeks later when the noise dies down... ...everything you knew is gone. So you find some other dogs, and join up into a group, and go look for food. And you lose your sense of vehicles, and roads, and traffic, because, well, it's a war zone, and everything is crazy. And then this guy comes bombing down the road at night in a truck, and there's blinding lights in the dark, and you freeze, and ... BAM! the truck hits you, you go flying off the road, and you die painfully and alone. (I hit so many wild/feral dogs in the Balkans, I lost count. There was nothing you could do. You would be driving along, and suddenly a white flash and BAM and ... I just killed another dog. It still tortures me to this very day, how many dogs I hit just driving normally in the Balkans after the wars there...)