In a linguistics class I took for two weeks at Rice U (before sheepishly yet wisely dropping it), I learned that in the most primitive human language, only three emotions were designated words. The first two emotions were predictably "happy" and "angry," but the third surprised me--"guilty." I wasn't able to understand this until something weird and random happened today.
There is an intersection on my way home from work where, during daytime and decent weather, I almost always see a homeless man. I've started recognizing faces, because it's usually the same couple people who take turns standing there. There are two general types of homeless people--loud and crazy ones that make a scene or try to approach you, and sad quiet ones with downcast eyes that mutely hold up their signs. The first type scares me, but the latter breaks my heart. And there's something about seeing the same person consistently suffering, that makes it more unforgettable.
I was taught by my parents never to give money to homeless people, because you don't know what they'll spend it on. Over winter break, I tried to learn knitting, because I thought maybe I could knit scarves for these people, giving them something more useful and meaningful than spare change. Sadly, my knitting progress has been very slow...I completed about half a scarf, and then I ran out of yarn and couldn't find the same color... (I do hope that I can finish this scarf at least by next winter.) A few weeks ago, I remembered this idea a couple people at NEC had, where we'd make sandwiches and go around giving them to homeless people. It was one of the best things I've ever been involved in, so recently I've been bringing an extra sandwich to work every day that we have lunch break. For some reason, each time I did that, there was nobody at the intersection when I was driving home, so I just ended up eating both sandwiches...
Then, this morning we had a concert. On Friday morning concerts, there are usually free donuts in the musicians' lounge, and oftentimes that is the highlight of my week, especially when they have my favorite kind (plain and glazed). Today there were three giant baskets of donuts left over after the concert, so I went into pig mode and ate two, saving a third for later. (On a side note, yesterday I took an online quiz called "What Is Your Spirit Animal?" and asked S what he guessed my result was. Without hesitation, he said, "Pig." At least he's honest, but the real result was "Bear.") Later as I drove toward the aforementioned intersection, I saw one of the homeless guys there, and I suddenly thought, "Wait, I have an extra donut! I can give that to him!" I hadn't touched it, and hopefully he wouldn't think it was rude...I mean, whenever someone gives me a free donut, I'm elated. Timing was perfect, so that the traffic light was red and I was stopped about eight feet away from him.
For reasons absolutely incomprehensible to me, I froze. All I could do was look at him, and I swear we made really long eye contact while my heart raced and palms sweated. I stared his cardboard sign, which said the usual things--homeless, anything will help, God bless...I stared at his dirty clothes and grey hair, and I stared at his vacant defeated eyes. The seconds ticked by, the traffic light turned green, and before I knew it, the moment had passed, I'd failed to act, and was driving past him.
Why did I do that???
It wasn't like I had nothing to offer, it wasn't like I was too far away, or it was a green light and people were honking at me, or that he seemed dangerous or sketchy, or that I had doubts about helping him. It would have been so easy for me to just roll down my window, hand him the food, smile, and drive away. But instead I did nothing, and I have NO IDEA why.
On the highway, I kept picturing his face in my mind, remembering how he leaned on a cane, and how the tattered cardboard sign hung limply from his grasp, and with each new detail recalled to his image, I felt worse. I wanted to cry, and when I called my mom on speaker phone to tell her what happened, I did cry. She was totally bewildered as I blubbered and sniffled. "Are you driving right now?" she asked incredulously, and when I said yes, she was all, "Are you crazy? You shouldn't be thinking about this while you're driving. If you want to feel bad, wait until you're safely home!" She asked if something else had gone wrong, and I answered that no, I'd had a perfectly good day up until then. After I calmed down, she told me, "Sometimes it's nice to help someone, but if you don't, it's okay too." She said the government should be fixing this problem, not me, and if nobody gives to these people, maybe they'll find better alternatives to improve their situation. They shouldn't be encouraged to rely on charity. Also, she said it's dangerous to interact with possibly unstable people, especially while driving.
After we hung up, I was still distracted and sad. I missed my highway exit, and it took an extra ten or fifteen minutes to get home.
It's stupid and simply weird/anomalous for me to feel SO guilty over such a little thing...in general, I'm a pretty practical person who has her emotions in check. But I guess when it comes to helping the less fortunate, I don't think there's ever a "little" thing, because you never know what tiny act of kindness could change someone else's life. It's not like handing that man a tasty dessert would have drastically altered his circumstance or prevented him from going hungry ever again, but maybe it would have lifted his spirits. I had an opportunity to do good, yet I didn't, and I just don't understand why.
Guilt is a complicated and fascinating phenomenon...in a way, it's self-centered, because we're thinking about ourselves and our own shame/faults/flaws. At the same time, it connects us to things outside of ourselves and demonstrates our innate morality, the ability to define an objective right and wrong. To me, this is an ultimate proof of a supreme being, because where does morality come from, if not Him? Even the most primitive humans identified guilt, knowing evil is wrong and good is right.
Another thing about guilt is, it's sneaky--you don't know how powerful it is until it hits you. I'm writing about guilt, but I don't even really know what it feels like on a larger scale. To me, guilt means cruel words that escaped my mouth when I was angry, forgetting about God in an obsession over myself, not helping others when I had the chance, and other stuff that's private. And if I were to draw a pie chart of all the emotions I've felt in my life, I'd say yeah, guilt consists of app. one-third, because it's unforgettable...it stays with me no matter what. I can't imagine how torturous guilt from more lasting/impacting crimes must be.
I suppose some people are more sensitive to guilt than others, and there are those few infamous figures that appear(ed) to feel barely any guilt at all, no matter how deplorable their actions. Still, I think it affects us all, whether or not we are open about it. To err is human, and with erring comes guilt...but the beautiful silver lining of guilt shows that despite how inexplicably, bizarrely, perversely, or foolishly wrong humans can be, the little spark of light that is our desire to be good shines on.
