if human nature were a reflection

K said to me the other day, "You're my hero in the way you can be so snarky to people and not get caught."

"So I'm your hero because I can be two-faced?" I laughed. But it pulled me up short a little bit, and so did something I witnessed after work today at Alpine.

As fun as it is to get away with saying sarcastic things and knowing other people enjoy your oh-so-witty comments--it's not the kind of person I want to be. Maybe I'm cynical because even the smallest signs of goodness in people really tugs at my heart (or maybe it means I'm a hopeless sap). It's always the small things that make me sit up and notice, make me ache inside, wishing that people could all be the kind of good person that is undoubtedly somewhere inside of them and not the kind of person that makes me impatient and despair of the world (the kind I encounter often at work).

Earlier this semester I was walking to the bus stop. I was carrying some books and a few pieces of paper tucked into them slipped out and onto the ground while I was walking; an older woman on the same path coming from the opposite direction stooped down immediately, before I had time to react. She picked up my papers and handed them back to me with a smile. I said, "Oh! Thank you!" and spent the rest of the walk to the bus stop lost in thought, extraordinarily touched by her small gesture of helpfulness. It wasn't as if she had offered me bone marrow or even offered to drive me to gas station while my car stalled on the highway; this was a little, nearly insignificant action that she probably thought nothing of as she continued on with her life. Butthe disproportionate wonder and gratitude that struck me as a result made a lasting impression on my mind.

This afternoon, I sat at a table near Alpine after work, trying to do some homework. I saw a man, a frequent customer at Alpine, come along the side of the Student Union holding a mug and flipping through his wallet for his money. I knew exactly what he was coming for: a coffee refill. He came by Alpine almost daily and was always, always incredibly friendly. He would smile and wish the cashiers a good morning or afternoon, asking us how we were doing, chatting a little if we weren't too busy. He would always buy a coffee refill, his mug and his money ready, and he would always leave with a warm, "Don't work too hard now." He had come by only this morning, while I worked, and done the very same. When I saw him this afternoon, I was struck out of the blue by an intense gratitude and appreciation for his conscientiousness: getting his money ready ahead of time, coming back to pay for a refill despite how easy it is for customers to just walk in and help themselves to the coffee sitting on the counter. I felt an overwhelming urge to give him coffee for free, a tiny demonstration of my sudden gratitude, to smile and talk to him and somehow let him know that the little things he did mattered: how they brightened my day, to deal with a customer who was always polite, friendly, honest.

I think the idea espoused in Good Omens is true: that humans have a capability for evilness even demons couldn't even dream of, but at the same have the capacity for an overwhelming compassion that surpasses even that of angels. Humans are an incredible paradox--and yet it is true of us all.

Maybe the little gestures hit me hardest because it means they're not orchestrated for show and are instead almost an instinct, natural to us. Maybe it strikes me so much because I want to be that kind of person: friendly, honest, helpful, thoughtful, and sincere. I don't want to be a paragon of virtue, no, but I want to be a good person: a thoroughly, instinctually good person.

How hard can it be?

I wonder.