A few days ago a friend of mine told me she admired how much I handled so quietly — without complaint, without much visible distress. She gives me too much credit, my life is rather easy, I explained.
Many of the people around me spend all their time complaining, whining, pitying themselves. It’s such a waste and brings me down because it’s so disheartening. I try to avoid these people when I know they’re in a bout of complaining.
My friend asked me how I am able to handle so much without complaint. I don’t think it’s any form of art or takes much skill, but I told her that I spend a lot of time thinking about others. When my friends are in trouble — whether it’s dangerous arguments with parents, or coming out to family members and risking homelessness, or losing a mother — it hurts me, and I can’t get it off of my mind. I put myself in their shoes and I stop worrying about myself and my own problems, because the things they go through make my life seem so simple.
Like every other human, I’m selfish frequently. But I hope that I make up for it slightly by thinking.