On feeling pity.

I'm really not sure that was exactly what I was feeling, but that's the best way I can describe it.

As I was walking to work this morning, I saw a group of people who were looking frantically lost, turning their map over and over again. I can understand this. I've lived in NYC, one of the more confusing cities to get around in(especially the outer boroughs), and been to Boston, which has taken years to be able to navigate even reasonably by myself. That's not the point, though. They were Amish, and they were standing outside Union Station at 7 o'clock in the morning. They seemed so lost, and no one seemed willing to help. I offered, and they said they were fine. I went about my way, hoping that they would find their way- who am I, after all, to stand in the way of the male I-can-find-my-own-way-dammit ego? I don't think it was pity at that point. Maybe it was guilt. I felt somewhat relieved that I was not born into their religion and lifestyle, at the same time, I felt sad for their plight of being so born. I guess I'm calling that pity.

In my experience, and this may be what happened this morning during the Amishs' encounter with the English, those who are given pity rarely want it. I know that when I'm down and out, I don't want other's pity. I just want to get through what I need to get through. It's hard enough to acknowledge to yourself that you're in a bad situation and you can't see your way out, but to have someone, even with the best intentions in mind and uncondescendingly approaches you to help, you don't typically feel better. You feel worse that you had to have pity taken on you.

At least I do.