What Do You Mean, It’s Not About Me?

I’m always that person a dollar short and a day late to the party, the person driving to work on empty streets wondering, are they having a holiday and nobody told me? Where the hell is everyone?  Has there been an evacuation? A tsunami warning? A zombie apocalypse? In other words, can I be forgiven for thinking that introspection should be all about me? Or did everybody else get the memo that it’s not, oh, gosh, a billion years ago already, and there simply just isn’t any excuse for me?

My friend Sarah sent the memo to me only yesterday or so and I feel… schooled. You mean introspection isn’t lying on your bed listening to the Smiths thinking, how would I feel if my girlfriend was in a coma? Introspection is more like, was I a good person today or was I a jerk? Did I do the right things for the right reasons, or, if I actually did do the right things, did I only do them so I could be like, whoa, I am awesome.  Introspection is also: how did the way I behave affect other people? And how can I do better/be a better person in the future? (Unless you are evil and/or have no fucks left to give, in which case, insert alternative adjectives above as necessary.)

I have been so schooled, I won’t be rolling my eyes at lint-picking navel-gazers anymore, not even at those of you with what I would call an emo hairdo (and which everyone under 40 probably just calls… a hairdo). Because I seriously now kind of get how introspection could make the world a better place. I apologize for scoffing.

And now I am off to ponder whether or not I am really as nice as I  like to think I am, or if I’m just deluding myself.  And I’ll try not to feel too smug about making this magnificent contribution toward world peace.

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