It was my 16-year-old-brother and a homeless man that gave me the best lesson in right giving I have ever had. When I was 11 my older brother took me on a fishing trip. This was long before cell phones and the like. We had plenty of lunch money, but unfortunately my 16-year-old brother had not thought of the need for gas money. We realized our mistake and put in just enough gas to leave us money for two McD’s meals.

After getting up at the crack of dawn, hiking in to our fishing spot and then back out again we were ready for lunch. Walking to McD’s took us past a homeless man. He did not ask us for money, he didn’t speak to us at all, but for some reason my brother stopped and said, “How’s it going, man?” For the next two or three minutes they exchanged some standard chit-chat: “looks like rain”; “did you catch anything?” Just a few polite words. As we parted my brother asked if he needed anything and this man’s reply has never left me: “You are the first person to look me in the eye when they talked to me in days; you already gave me what I needed.”

Of course we still gave him most of our lunch, we both knew there was hot food waiting for us at home.

Much later in life I realized what my brother has is equanimity. When he talks to a homeless person it is no different than when he talks to any other person. We all want happiness, we all want less suffering. No difference.

Kindness, compassion, shared joy, equanimity. Each informs the other.

Intriguingly, my experience is that compassion is both a choice and a blessing. I’ve thought a lot about why I am so compassionate toward others and toward myself. I think my compassion has its roots in a truly awful childhood, one marked by emotional, physical and sexual abuse. It sensitized me to the suffering of others and made me want to ease their pain. I’ve read somewhere that when something bad happens to you, you can become bitter or can become better. My choice to become better has helped heal me.

I see compassion as the greatest spiritual good. As a parent, it is the trait I most wanted to pass on to my children, and I’m grateful I was able to do so. My son has become a firefighter and EMT. My daughter, 15, has suffered from deep depression and self-cutting, needing hospitalization 3 times in the last 2 years. I’m always amazed at her matter-of-fact willingness to let other kids know about her experiences and how she is recovering from them. She says she wants to do this to decrease the stigma of mental illness and to convey to others the hope of recovery.

All that said, isn’t it interesting that our discussions here about compassion focus mostly on ourselves—and not on the needs of others?

Nancy: I agree with your observation about how childhood trauma can affect us positively or negatively as adults. I’ve also observed that children who tend to exist on the fringes of popular groups, who likely feel more angst growing up (even without suffering the significant traumas you mention) tend to be more empathetic and compassionate as adults.

Alex