Thoughts that may just go nowhere

There are so many people who need help in the world that if you thought about all of them, you'd go batty.  By the time I'm done writing this blog entry, thousands of kids in other countries will have died from starving, governmental atrocities, diseases that could be easily treated if they were in the U.S.

But I do want to focus on one kind of news story I read about every once in a while.

Every once in a while, there's a story about a brave kid who's usually under 10, who is dying, and he does something completely unselfish.  A few months ago it was a kid who had a week to live because of Leukemia, and he wanted to make sure the homeless people in his town were fed.

I wonder why these kids get these diseases and not me.  I'm not half the person they are.  If I found out even today that I had a few months to live, I don't know if I'd be able to focus on people outside of my family.  In fact, I think I'd largely stop communicating with outsiders.  I'd be a pretty miserable person - not brave or unselfish.

I feel guilty.  There's no reason I should live comfortably in America - there's nothing special I did.  Certainly no more than some 8-year-old whose last wish is to feed the poor.

What's my point?  I don't know.  Maybe that I don't ask for anything anymore, because I got all the things I need.  Even though it happens to people every day that they find love, it's still a miracle that it happened to me.

Publishing a book is kind of the same thing.  It's something I really wanted, and a near-miracle that someone paid me for my silly words on paper, so I can't really ask for more after that.  It was a lifelong dream.  It came true.

More importantly, there were the times my dog got sick and I prayed for her to get better, and she did.  My family would have been devastated if she hadn't survived the operations she had at 8 and 10.  (Those of you who are not pet lovers may scoff at this, but she really meant a lot to my mom and brother, who had very little at the time.)  She ended up living a long life suitable for any great dog.

So in terms of the big things that I need to be happy, I got pretty much what I wanted now.  It's fun to dream of more, but I could never ask for it.

I'm not saying that life has been a bowl of cherries, because it isn't that way for anyone.  I could tell you some terrible things about my childhood, but I'm sure you could tell me the same.  And some of you couldn't - that's fine, too.

I guess I'm still not getting to a point.  I guess my point is, reading about some little kid who is dying makes me not want to take anything for granted, not want to get angry, not feel like I'm a worthwhile person, because I couldn't hold a candle to a person like that.  I'd like to be a better person, we all would (well, most of us), but I don't think I 'deserve' any more than I have, even the things I strive for.