Don't Save

I'm inclined to want to save people. Perhaps I feel the privileged burden of the "Nice White Lady" of many books and movies, especially when it comes to the power of stories and the written word. This skit made me blush in recognition of this trope, and my own fantasies.

At times when I have heard about or observed a snippet of someone else's problem, I've been activated to solve it. Because someone else's problems are so much more interesting to me than mine, I would rather lose myself in theirs. It is quite a case of removing a speck of dust in their eye while ignoring the beam in my own.

And now that we have the internet, the landscape of speculative problems is even more vast than before. A well-intentioned but hasty message can reach a person immediately and impersonally. Writing a letter by hand and sending it through the post office used to mean that there were pauses along the way when one could reconsider the motive or possible outcome of the message, along with reflection upon the dignity of the person receiving it. Now there is instant communication. With ease comes a measure of carelessness, which has caused many people to reject social media altogether.

One day there was some particular online issue I imperiously thought I could illuminate with my opinion, but after my zeal faded, I lost confidence in whatever I was so sure about just moments before. I closed the message window. When I clicked on that terminal red button, up popped the choice of Save or Don't Save. I asked myself, "What am I doing? I can't save this person! I have no idea what they're up against. I don't have magical powers of insight and influence. I wasn't asked for advice. Who do I think I am?" I chose Don't Save.

But this new self-correction to mentally click Don't Save, after hearing of someone's plight, doesn't sit entirely well with me. Sometimes I have ended up feeling backward and cold. The adage to just "be present and listen" doesn't seem like enough. It usually is, but sometimes, I do have more to offer. I haven't entirely resolved this inner conflict. But one thing that has helped me is the very word, "help." It seems much more human and actually doable and less emotionally charged than "save". It certainly is a lot less arrogant on my part.

If I am truly paying attention to someone, whatever it is that they truly need will become apparent to them without my own presumptions. Along with considerate listening, I can keep my eyes and ears open or ask questions on their behalf. The pulsing blue rectangle in my head now offers the choice of Help or Don't Help. Many times, restraint is the most helpful and appropriate response.

Most people, myself included, want to solve their own problems, albeit with much needed assistance. They want the sense of accomplishment, dignity and assurance that they are strong enough to meet life on its terms.  They don't like the uncertainty of dependency. But there is also an impulse, within this same group of "most people", to consider others and to lighten the collective load. There still exists a chivalry of sorts, but it should be tempered within parameters of humility and courtesy. Noble, Quixotic fantasies are naive, selfish and ineffective. 

Now, when faced with someone in distress, within this new detente between my selfish impulse to save and my selfish instinct to disregard, I find myself in the vigilant middle: I can't save you, but I can damn sure help you.