Thoughts on Selflessness (beware: lengthy)

Growing up in my mother's household, I always got my "fair share" when it came to any resource - usually dessert - that was divisible. This privilege came from my mom's notion that everything desireable - especially that which was edible - should and must be shared equally. This was not a first come first serve household. If I found a lone piece of pie, left on the counter it was not necessarily mine. Oh no. Had I already had "my 2 slices?" If the answer was yes then I had better not touch that pie. Such was life, and it was normal for me.

Enter college. I moved away from home and soon discovered that (in more ways then just this one area) other people I met were in fact raised differently than I, and for some people this meant that food, et. al. was fair game - there for the taking. A cookie might be saved for you, but don't count on it. Being relatively assertive, I readily adapted to this lifestyle shift. Heck, in my last house, containing a total of six hungry dudes, the running joke was that any supper leftovers were guaranteed not to exist after midnight (only, it wasn't a joke really...). (The year before, by contrast, I had lived with a group of people that had collectively allowed leftovers to survive until lunch (!) - or breakfast if I decided that lasagne sounded better than toast.) My thinking on sharing equally (specifically regarding food) shifted, even to the point where during visits back home I would almost get annoyed with my mother's demands for "fair shares."

And yet... part of who you are is your upbringing. And I still found from time to time that I would resent people eating more than me - even if I was less hungry! Let's split this last chocolate bar. Okay. ... And then if my partner in crime took bigger bites than me, I would secretly get annoyed. And so the story goes. Now this brief history and description are simply a prologue to my present thoughts. So bear with me as I ramble on.

Selfishness v. selflessness is something I routinely think about. I know that I want to be a totally selfless person, I recognize that I am not at all, and then I guess with my remaining time I try to act in ways that make a noticeable shift from one to the other. This morning, I was eating a bagel [homemade! One of my latest goals is to be an amazing bagel maker. So far only mediocrity...] with cream cheese and jam. The jam was an '08 vintage, handmade with care by myself the following summer ("Rody Blues '08") and I am admittedly running a bit low, not to mention the distinct and unfortunate lack of blueberries out here.

Now personally, I spread jam relatively thinly, using enough to gain the full flavor of the fruit while not being wasteful. A certain unnamed housemate, however, glops it on - we're talking an 1/8th of the jar for one bagel. This always makes me cringe. In fact, I almost hesitate to open a new jar of jam just because I know that he will have it finished before I even use a small fraction of it. ... BUT WHY DO I CARE??? That's what I'm really getting down to. I'm still enjoying my jam, and clearly my housemates are too, so why get my dander up? In fact, shouldn't it feel good to have something I worked hard on give others so much pleasure?

I frequently encounter instances, stories and people that demonstate to me that selfless giving is an amazing act, for both the benefactor and recipient. Danny, the main character of Tortilla Flat, a Steinbeck novel we are collectively reading (one of my favorites), inherits a large house into which he immediately invites quite the crew of riffraff, one by one. He offers without hesitation, and the result is a group of companions that offer any wealth they come by to the good of the house. One man by the name of Eric that I met in Paonia (a nearby town) regularly walks up behind people - in his house or in public - and gives them quick little 5-minute back rubs. Frank, another person I met in Paonia, recently purchased a few beers (and slices of pizza) for myself and about 4 other young folks at the brewery in Paonia after an afternoon of swimming. Why he wouldn't accept any money: "You all do important work and don't get paid enough. I also do important work, but I have plenty, so I choose to treat you." So simple.

Giving - and again, emphasis on giving without any amount of regret or resentment or with any alterior motive - is a good thing. On a recent bus trip from Denver to Grand Junction, I bought a candybar (my high calorie:dollar ratio supper) at a gas station, ate half of it and was saving the rest for later when my aislemate (another future post all to himself!) bluntly asked if he could eat the other half. Sure, I said, and though I was a bit saddened at the time I was grateful for my action later when he said that he hadn't really eaten much in the last 24 hours. I felt good about myself because I had kind of helped someone, but imagine if I could act as I had but with no regret - or if I could directly offer half of my food to someone who looked in need of it with no prompting. (And while we're imagining, let's consider a world where everyone who had, offered...)

This is my goal: I want to get over thinking about how much money I just spent for this or that (and how it's now mine) and be able to let go. I want to share freely without resentment or regret. I want to not be so stuck in my own world of needs and desires that I can't see those of others. I want to enjoy what I have with the company of others, not locked away like a miser. I want to get over a few grams of blueberries, sugar and pectin!

To the reader: I apologize if this is long and/or rambly or incoherent. I've chosen sleep over editing (not that I edit anyway), and I wanted to finish this tonight before a whole slew of events occur to me this weekend (including a wine festival, a visitor and maybe picking/canning cherries??) And finally, I challenge you to ask me for a bite of my sandwich, a dollar, or whatever, and then call me out if I get a little twinkle of resentment in my eye... But for the present time, bed. And we'll see if there's any jam left for breakfast. We'll also see if I can resist the urge to care.