Thursday, September 17, 2009

Gas Station Thought

I was at a gas station today and a car pulled up at the same time that made me sad. It was a nice new BMW convertible. But I had seen it driving just before and it had made me nervous. The front of my car was even with the back bumper of the car in the lane beside me, and this BMW accelerates past me and slows down inches away from the car in front of it. I was on my brakes as soon as I heard his engine speeding up because I knew there wasn't room for him to change lanes and there wasn't room to be accelerating (even though he was) and I didn't want to be caught up in an accident.
Once we were both in the gas station, a couple of young guys jumped out (there were a couple other people in the car - one was a woman for sure...I didn't see them, just heard them). They were shouting to each other, yelling very crude things and laughing. They turned on their very impressive stereo very loud and everything about their attitude made me sad.
I don't know these people. I don't know who they are, what they think about anything, how they act - I just have a two minute perspective, but everything about how they presented themselves made me think that they didn't care about anything besides having fun and living for themselves.
It makes me sad that so many people get caught up in that, and I always hope that I am not one of them, but sometimes I worry that I am. All I want from my life is to be able to love others and to help, and it saddens me to think that there are people who would think I am weak or less than they are for that reason.
That was my gas station thought.

Grasp the Nettle

1 Comments:

At 5:10 p.m., Blogger Niki Devereaux said...

can I just say that more people than you'd probably realize think that it's a strong trait to care for others. Maybe not in their 20's, but as we get older people's brains seem to start working again.

Or maybe that's just the case for girls.

In any case, I think it's admirable that you want more out of life than living for yourself.

 

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