Empathetic fantasies

The other day on the way to uni, I sat reading my Kindle on the bus. I'm currently engrossed in my current Neuroscience novel of choice: 'Pictures of the Mind', by Miriam Boleyn-Fitzgerald. The chapter of the day was 'Empathy', and how the brains of the empathetic are different from us normal selfish folk. Thank the G*d I don't believe in for brain plasticity! With practice, we can all become more empathetic and improve the quality of our own lives and those around us.

Having recently engaged in a mild (non-empathetic) disagreement with my boyfriend only minutes before climbing aboard said nausea-inducing bus, I was open to the suggestions leaping off the page at me. Maybe life would be more enjoyable if I focused on other people more? I imagined a selfless life, permanently in a state of 'warm-fuzziness', a heart bleeding for random people on the street, and other similar selfless (yet somehow selfish) stereotypes.

Ready to leap out of my seat at the first side of a fellow chair-less passenger, I gathered my things together. Too slowly it seemed, as someone sat down beside me, trapping me against the sweaty bus window. How dare they impinge on my empathetic intentions!

It took me a moment to notice that I knew this woman from the physiology department. With a good 40 minutes to go until we reached the university campus, the topic took a many and varied path. Seeing me reading my Kindle, my bus neighbour took the opportunity to attempt a bit of quick money making.

"I have a Kindle cover for sale, would you like?" she asks. It didn't seem to bother her that I clearly already had one, attached to the Kindle I was holding in my hand.

"I bought it for $60. I'll give it to you for $60," she says.

"What a bargain!" I said smiling. She didn't notice my sarcasm.

"I would charge you less, but I need the money for other things," she said shamelessly.

My thoughts turned to those of empathy only moments ago. Clearly this woman was only thinking of herself, and I laughed at the irony, whilst politely (and unsuccessfully) changing the topic of conversation.

Later that day, I sat on the bus for the return journey. A middle aged man dismounted the bus at my stop, struggling with multiple heavy shopping bags. The night was dark, the trees providing many hiding places for suspect people, and I was a lone female in gym shorts. I hesitated, looked at the man, and kept walking, guiltily looking over my shoulder in the hope that my empathetic thoughts would make his bags less heavy.

"Don't worry about me!" he called out to me, "I couldn't catch you if I wanted to".

Awkward. I laughed a little. I looked at his scarred face and well-defined arms concealed underneath his smelly clothes. I kept walking.

Society doesn't work if everyone is empathetic all the time. There's no way that I should help a strange man carry his shopping inside his house. And there's really nothing wrong with a woman trying to legitimately make back a bit of money for herself.

Perhaps empathy is realising that you look out for number one, just like other people do.