Pay It Forward

Recently I stumbled onto an online talk by Alain De Botton titled, “Why You will Marry the Wrong person”. It was based on an article he wrote for the New York Times in May 2016. In it he briefly mentions the idea that many angry people, many bitter people, are, in fact, hopeless optimists. They see the best in humanity, the best we all can be: the opportunities to do good; the ability to be kind; the amazing choices at our fingertips. But when reality falls short - when a person chooses to harm another out of spite, or another massacre is reported on the news - they are hurt. Again, and again, and again.

Although this was not the focus of the talk, it stuck with me. It resonated so deeply because I have always felt this wild, exhausting, whiplash-inducing contradiction within me. I hope for the best. On most days, I see the beauty of the world (things change when temperatures drop below the 10-degree mark, but that’s another matter). I love the green of the leaves, the sound of them as they rustle, the dappled-light patterns they cast on the path ahead of me. I know people can be great, giving, kind. We cry, and laugh, and worry, and hope, and we keep moving forward every single day. I believe in the good of humanity with all my heart. I see it in the people I choose to surround myself with, and in the odd stranger every now and then. It cheers me up. It makes my day. It keeps that hopeful little flame going. But this is also why I see the worst of humanity. I see what could be. I see what is. I see what is not.

And so, like most epiphanies in life it seems, where coincidence and providence come together, a brief aside in a YouTube talk that I was never looking for (parameters of 90% of the content I watch on YouTube) helped me understand my humanity a little better. I deciphered why I felt overwhelmed with surges of anger when somebody didn’t meet the standard I expected of myself and those around me. I thought I was highly judgemental for a long time, and had come to terms with it. “I’m just that person,” I thought, “to whom nothing is ever good enough.” It turns out I was suffering with a child-like naïveté of wishing that everybody would just be kind to each other, and that I didn’t know how to channel my disappointment when they weren’t.

With knowledge comes understanding, and this has helped me redirect that angry energy into more productive avenues than locking myself in my study and crafting yet another plan for the accelerated extinction of the human race. I still get those moments, don’t get me wrong. When I feel helpless, when I think that, realistically, I’m not likely to make the slightest bit of difference in the world. I know I can’t implement world peace, or save every abused child, person, animal on the face of the earth. I can’t stop people from using plastic or littering the oceans, or hunting (murdering) wildlife. I did toy with the idea of initiating a long-term plan involving a benevolent-yet-firm dictatorship for the greater good of human (and animal) kind. I decided against it.

Instead, now I focus my energy on things I can do. Small things. I can tell the person making my coffee that I think their necklace is nice. I can use a reusable cup for said coffee, and urge everybody who will listen to do the same (you also get cheaper coffee?! I still don’t understand why everybody isn’t doing this?!). I can encourage friends to get their fruit and veggies from market stalls, which is not only cheaper but reduces plastic as well as supporting local businesses. I can scold somebody yelling at a parking inspector for giving them a ticket: if you did the crime you gotta do the time, mate (and as the girlfriend of a man who is the unluckiest in the world for parking tickets, I stand by that statement, as frustrating as it feels at the time).

Little actions do matter. One cup at a time, we encourage others to stop using disposable coffee-cups. One petition at a time we get supermarkets to stop wrapping vegetables in plastic. Kindness, thoughtfulness: so intangible and yet they have far-reaching powers. A compliment from a stranger will uplift me for hours. Each and every action makes a difference. If I can convince just one person to get a reusable cup, maybe they’ll talk somebody else into it. If my acts of kindness help three people, each of whom then go on to help another three, that’s an effect that will start snowballing pretty fast. It’s just like the book (and movie) Pay It Forward. You help six people. They each then help another six. The exponential effect is staggering, cyclical, endless. So give it a go. Consider the premise. Pay it forward.