A little self scrutiny does a soul good.

Last night I had an experience that gave me pause. It was an exact inverse reflection of something that had happened to me in Bolivia.

I was walking to Carrefour last night night. I wanted to recharge my telephone (put more minutes on it) and buy a pair of gloves. From the shadows, a little boy of about 10 or 12 approached me talking quick, confusing Spanish. It was obvious that he was trying to sell me something, but I had to ask him to speak a little more slowly for me. He explained that he was selling raffle tickets for the Third World. I didn´t know exactly what facet of the third world his proceeds were going ot help. I just knew it was a child trying to make a difference, and I wanted to help. To be honest, I didn´t feel like I was helping the third world at all by buying that ticket, but maybe in some small and nonmemorable way, I helped a child to believe in the power of helping. I bought a ticket for 3€ and felt a little happy about it. I like kids. I like their innocence, the way they want to help. I walked away with a slight smile.

As I walked on, I remembered the inverse situation happening to me in Bolivia, and how my response was vastly different at that time. It was on a day when I found myself down for the count with a migraine. The rest of my group had gone together to the market. I, on the other hand, tied a small towel around my head for the comfort of the pressure, lay in bed, and finally waddled up to the pharmacy. On the way back, a young boy of about 12 or 14 approached me. He walked right up in my face and held his open palm out. I was frightened, and probably stupidly so. The child was obviously high on glue or some other substance. His eyes were glassed over, and he wasn´t communicating verbally. Still, I knew he wanted money. He was probably hungry. Bolivian street kids sometimes huff glue to kill the hunger. But instead of feeling compassion, what I felt immediately was fear. Did he have a knife in his pocket? In his high, would he try to push me or hit me? I side stepped him and walked away quickly.

Now I´m thinking... in both situations, money was being solicited to help someone in the third world. Why was I more willing to give the money to a child in the first world, instead of straight into the hands of a hungry child in the third world? It makes me frustrated with myself, to know I let fear get the best of me, to know that when I was in no way whatsoever forced to actually see the horror of the third world, I was willing to give money. I don´t feel like my reactions in either situation were uncommon. I think they were highly normal. That doesn´t excuse me. It doesn´t make me feel better. It makes me feel concern.

And so I challenge myself today, to step back, assess, make internal changes, so that the next time I can hopefully react differently. The next time someone approaches me and my first reaction is fear, I hope I can swallow it a little better and decide to respond with love instead of that instinctual fear. And I would hope that we could all do that, because, it´s easy to see orphans and starving elderly on tv and want to send a check. And it´s good to send the check. These organizations need money to fund their work. But then... more than sending the check, we do twice the work towards global goodness by analyzing ourselves, checking for prejudice, and working to delete it within ourselves. It´s like José Martí said in Nuestra America, ¨Pensar es servir.¨ To think is to serve. We have to look at ourselves scrutinously sometimes and perform self soul surgery. Because... there´s a little God in each of those little boys I met, and in one instance I walked away and in another instance I tried to help. It would have been better if I had acted in reverse, and I hope by self-reflection I can make the appropriate changes.