Not changing anything in my world. Not making a difference. Blending in. I’m TERRIFIED of being just another face, someone that forty years from now you won’t remember.
It seems almost petty and self serving doesn’t? That my ego is too massive that it’s scared of not being remembered in the grand scheme of thing. And I suppose you may be right, and yes, I do know that in vastness that is all of existence I am a mere minuscule speck of carbon. But what if the speck of carbon could change things.
I can’t help but thinking of a story my father told me when I was younger, about how a boy every morning would go down to the shore and throw starfish back into the wake so the wouldn’t be eaten by the seagulls or dry out and die. How a man approached him and told him that there are too many starfish and he’d never be able to save them all, and how that child responded, “But to those fish I can reach, I’m their savior, I’m making a difference to the few.” This has resounded in my soul, I want to reach the hurt, the dying, the empty. I desperately want to help.
This drive, the compulsive urge to be someone’s hero, now matter how minute it ends up being has completely engulfed my life. I go though my day smiling, despite anything negative that has happened to me that day, because I know that my smile could be someone’s hope to keep fighting a seemingly endless battle, or the only smile a lonely woman sees today. My drive to help has lead me to my career, a pediatric oncology nurse. I’ve seen how nurses can affect children fighting an unbelievably difficult and painful battle and I want to be someone that brightens and comforts those little ones.
I do believe my sense of empathy is a God given gift, it allows people to open up to me, to seek refuge from their troubles, to be able to vent their pent up emotions. Some people take this as a burden, but I love it. It shows me that I’m doing the right thing, that my endless love for humanity has not been for naught. That in my own little world, I’m saving all the starfish I can reach.
So I guess it is an irrational fear, not changing things, not being remembered. But this fear, my source of anxiety at times, it reminds me to go above the average persons out look. To not be consumed with me me me all the time. So maybe, just maybe, you should be afraid of being forgotten and blending in day after day. For if we just step out of our comfort zones, and care about the forgotten suffering, how great could this world become?