Day One

I had an experience last month that has been haunting me ever since.

I was on a delightful Sunday run around the neighborhood. It was my first run since the half-marathon and the first day of clear skies after a short cold/wind/rain spell. I was feeling invigorated. Strong. Proud.

Suddenly, I felt something bump against my heels. I did a sort of half-turn, expecting to see nothing of importance, such as a branch or a plastic bag. Instead, I saw a dog. Following me-and batting at my heels-was a tiny, and I mean tiny, white dog. I had spotted him about a block earlier and thought nothing of it.  Apparently, he did. He had followed me this far and continued to follow me while I tried to run out of his territory. I soon came to discover  that he had no territory, at least not anywhere near where we were. When I stopped, he stopped...and sat. He stared up at me with seriously cute puppy-dog eyes. When I ran, he ran. He had that floppy puppy bounce where he was a little distracted by everything around him, but also really wanted to keep up. I was at a total loss as to what to do. I began to retrace my steps hoping he would wander back home or I would come across someone who recognized, or better yet, owned him.

Nothing. I asked everyone I saw, and no one knew him. A number of people said, "He likes you. You should keep him." which, needless to say, was not helpful.  I guess it is a nicety that people offer when secretly they are thanking the heavens that they aren't the sucker who picked up a cute stray puppy and now has to decide it's fate.

So, I let him follow me home. I temporarily named him Christ's Sake, because the entire walk home, I kept muttering to myself, "For Christ's sake. What am I doing? What am I going to do with you?" When we got home, J. made the executive decision to take him to the shelter.  When we arrived there I insisted that J. take him in and take care of the drop-off. He wouldn't. If you have ever been to an animal shelter, for any reason, they are awful.  They are pretty much my idea of hell. Even the nicest of them are the saddest places you will ever be.

While handing over C.S., I completely crumbled. I couldn't stop crying.  You know that hysterical, hyperventilating type? But it wasn't only for him.  It was for all those poor animals. All those sad, homeless, family-less, little animals. I was a mess for the next week.

One thought I kept returning to over the course of that day, and the days that followed, was that the people at the shelter must have the hardest job in the world.  Then I thought about the people who work at orphanages, and how hard that must be. Or homeless shelters. Or battered women shelters. Those people are strong. Those people are the unsung heroes of each and every community.

Naturally,  I began to question my own job. Yes, I am a teacher, but for a private school.  A private school that is one of about 100 private schools in the area. While our humble little school does not harbor the wealthiest of the city; in fact, many of the families are middle class in search of an alternative to the traditional educational setting, it is still a population of children with access to resources. I began to fret, and slightly obsess, about how I am not making a difference. This is why I teach!  I want to change the world! I just couldn't shake the thought though that if I wasn't at this school, someone else just as good would be. I was having a crisis of conscience: what is the point if I'm not making a difference?

I stewed in this for a while. Once C.S. was finally adopted from the shelter (yes, I kept tabs on him via their website) I relaxed a bit. I do love my job, and I'm not currently in a position to leave and take on something new, however, I cannot shake the feeling that I can be doing more.

So with that, I set my intention for the next twenty-nine days: I will give, contribute, and help.  I do not mean be 'helpful' but to actually give back to my community each day. How I will do this every day, I am not entirely sure. Some days it may take the form of a financial contribution, while others may be a tangible donation, and still others may be something completely different.

There is one caveat . My grandfather once told me that if you have to tell other people about the nice thing you did for someone, it doesn't count, because then you really only did it for yourself. Yes, yes. I also know the stance that charity is  never really about the recipient and is more about the feeling of giving, nevertheless, this idea has stuck with me my whole life. So, in honor of my grandfather, I will refrain from sharing too many specifics (honestly, I was a little hesitant to even mention this 29 at all) and just focus on the experience.

Thank you C.S., for inspiring me to be a better person.