Compassion

A few days ago, I ran into an old preschool teacher of mine. My favorite, actually. Although it's been nearly twenty years since I was in preschool, she still remembers me, and every time I run into her she tells me the same story, about how compassionate I was as a child. My mother says she mentions the same story every time she runs into her as well.

While I was in preschool, this woman's husband died. Apparently, I had some kind of sixth sense back then, a sense that allowed me to pick up on when she was feeling especially low. I'd always come crawling up on her lap and just sit with her.

I don't consider myself to be an unfeeling person. Not at all. But I do wish I could still be that little girl, reaching out to people in pain, without second guessing my reactions to their emotions, and worrying about whether or not they will see my reaching out as an intrusion.