Today I was sitting in bed, under the duvet. I still am, as it happens. I had a very satisfying day: chores and food-shopping in the morning (the 600gr entrocote steak I bought was my present to myself for my first payday); meeting up with new friends for lunch (a long, Spanish-Saturday lunch); buying a little purple bowl (why not?); coming back home and slipping under the duvet completely dressed to watch “The Jane Austen Book Club” whilst eating home-made crostini with honey and duck liver paté. Not bad.
And I was right here where I am now when I suddenly had a realization. One of those moments when you think “Ah, yes…that must be it!” and then you think “And now what do I do about it?”. Well, the first answer was “write it in your blog” so here I am. Where I was and where I still am.
I realized that I do lots of things for other people. I write letters, I send postcards, I buy small presents, I make hand-made gifts, I cook, I help, I clean, I note what they like and remember it, I try to remember birthdays, I paint skulls on seeds as good luck charms for people I just met and that I am never going to see again, I plan Christmas presents months in advance, I try my best to be kind and thoughtful.
But no, I don’t think it’s just generosity and kindness. I don’t believe in that selfless force that drives people to donate blood and money and time and energy. No, I believe in evolution, and fitness, and selfish genes. So why do I do all these things?
Because deep down, somewhere hidden so well it took me this long to find, I am wishing that everyone would do the same for me. I am trying to give the example so that someone else, in a future moment, will see a postcard, think of me, send me a text asking for my new address and send me the postcard with a personal message hand-written on it.
So far my quest hasn’t been extremely successful (there are some exceptions, you know who you are), but maybe in a future moment things will change and I will get a kilo of Christmas cards and a few dozen good luck charms. Maybe.