I told Twitter… Friday or Saturday that I discovered that I like helping people. For some of you, there’s a question as to why this is surprising. Well, there’s something you need to understand about me.
I. Hate. People.
Oh, I like individual persons fine (with exceptions, naturally), but in general, I hate people. This is due to events such as the Boston marathon bombing, the school shooting in Newtown, and anyone who has killed a spouse or child or in any way intentionally ruined or destroyed another’s life.
The fact that people could do this and (for some) feel no guilt at all, boggles my mind and pisses me off. But I digress.
Friday night/Saturday morning at work, I helped a customer find something that we were out of on the shelf. It’s a small thing, and may not have made an impression on him, but it was a revelation for me.
I. Like. Helping. People.
Now, I promised Twitter I would tie this to writing, and here it is: when I began reading, and even now, the world’s between the covers of a book were (and are) an escape. Reading about someone else’s life and problems was a way to forget (or at least set aside) my own.
It’s not the reason I began writing, nor is it the reason I continue, but if I can help even one individual to escape their world, I will feel happy and truly successful.