The price of compassion ("It's not fair!!!" yelps the inner five-year-old)

com⋅pas⋅sion
   /kəmˈpæʃən/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [kuhm-pash-uhn]
–noun
1. a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering.

fair
1   /fɛər/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [fair]
–adjective
1. free from bias, dishonesty, or injustice: a fair decision; a fair judge.
2. legitimately sought, pursued, done, given, etc.; proper under the rules: a fair fight.

loy⋅al
   /ˈlɔɪəl/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [loi-uhl]
–adjective
1. faithful to one's sovereign, government, or state: a loyal subject.
2. faithful to one's oath, commitments, or obligations: to be loyal to a vow.
3. faithful to any leader, party, or cause, or to any person or thing conceived as deserving fidelity: a loyal friend.
4. characterized by or showing faithfulness to commitments, vows, allegiance, obligations, etc.: loyal conduct.

jeal⋅ous
   /ˈdʒɛləs/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [jel-uhs]
–adjective
1. Fearful or wary of being supplanted; apprehensive of losing affection or position.
2.
a. Resentful or bitter in rivalry; envious: jealous of the success of others.
b. Inclined to suspect rivalry.

3. Having to do with or arising from feelings of envy, apprehension, or bitterness: jealous thoughts.
4. Vigilant in guarding something: We are jealous of our good name.
5. Intolerant of disloyalty or infidelity; autocratic



Ah, fairness and compassion. One might think that those two terms would go hand-in-hand, but they generally don't. Especially not when you throw jealousy into the mix. Even if you completely remove jealousy from any equation, and focus purely on the aspect of "fairness".

When we were children, the world operated on a level of fair play, with a certain set of rules, and those rules needed to be followed, so everyone got a turn, so things were "fair". No hurt feelings, ostensibly, each person equal. That was the goal. That was how we were taught. Or how we were supposed to be taught. We each get one piece of the whole, so that no one gets harmed. There was a list, by Robert Fulghum:

1. Share everything.
2. Play fair.
3. Don't hit people.
4. Put things back where you found them.
5. Clean up your own mess.
6. Don't take things that aren't yours.
7. Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
8. Wash your hands before you eat.
9. Flush.
10. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
11. Live a balanced life--learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
12. Take a nap every afternoon.
13. When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
14. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
15. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup--they all die. So do we.
16. And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned--the biggest word of all--LOOK.

It was very uncomplicated. Everything that we were taught as children, on how to treat each other, and to interact, easily, simply. Things we've obviously forgotten since then. That was entitled "Everything I need to know, I learned in Kindergarten".

Only now, as adults, we have these much more complicated guidelines. Now we have judgment calls to make, and instead of looking at how to interact with each other, based on simple, easy guidelines, our lives are so much more complex. It doesn't work anymore, to just say you're sorry, if you hurt someone. And most often, a lot of people don't even bother to do that. "Fairness" in general has gone out the window. Blame is laid at everyone else's feet, and accepting personal responsibility for ones actions is a concept so foreign that it's almost unrecognizable. It's frightening.

And then there's compassion. As a general rule, the same people who are incapable of accepting personal responsibility for their actions, are the ones who are completely confident that they are compassionate and loyal, declaring their qualities to all and sundry. Compassion by definition is a feeling of sympathy and a desire to alleviate suffering.

It is incompatible to reject personal responsibility for your own actions, and hurt other people; be it intentional or not, and then claim to be a compassionate and empathetic person. This is not something that would make a person "fair" as an individual.

And yes, I realize that in general, people and life isn't fair. And, personally, a great deal of the time, I'm not very compassionate toward people. Empathetic, yes. Compassionate? No, not very often. I can, and do, generally understand how people are feeling, and to a certain extent will even sympathize with them. But attempt to alleviate their suffering? No. I am selfish that way, and I accept that in myself. I have a certain finite amount of energy to expend to help, and will not (no offense to the general population), waste it on trying repeatedly to help those, who refuse to even vaguely help themselves.

I was foolish, for a long time, and thought that fairness entered into the equation where love, and friendship was concerned. That fairness, compassion, and love, should have mattered, when in fact, it had nothing to do with anything. Perhaps it actually should have, but that was because I was functioning from a place that operated from the kindergarten philosophy of: Play Fair. Say sorry when you hurt somebody. Don't take something that isn't yours. And that was a mistake on my part. I was expecting compassion from people, and no one had any.

And I actually did manage, in the end, and it made me strong, stronger than I otherwise would have been. And it made me cautious, a lot less trusting than I would also otherwise would be. Less inclined to extend compassion to others. I will empathize. But that's it, anymore. And that's not fair, and I understand that. Perhaps it's the knowing, and accepting of myself that might, in the end, make it fair. Because I present it honestly, that I only have a certain amount to give, and won't go any further than that.

I take personal responsibility for myself, even when people don't like it. I still remove people from my life periodically. Somewhat like a random changing of the guard. Not a banner-like announcement, precisely. More a slow non-answering of phone calls, and a drop-off of time spent together. I'm a big proponent of trust, and when mine gets violated, be it in a small way, or a large one, I will generally pull back, hard, for distance and self-preservation. Especially if it's been violated in a way that was for no other purpose than to stir up drama, just for personal entertainment. I don't like that. I don't have the time, or the inclination, to play that sort of game anymore, as most people who I spend my time with know very well.

The price of compassion is when you actually do reach out, and help, especially when it's a risk to you. You sympathize. You listen, you commiserate, and then you give something to try and make it better. Because it was the right thing to do, because it was fair, because sometimes, that's just what you do. And the price that is leveled? Sometimes there *is* a price. Sometimes it costs you something. A piece of your heart. Sometimes it's money. Sometimes it's a piece of your soul, that you can't get back. Sometimes it was trivial, and sometimes it's something that may never recover. But that's a risk you take, every time you extend it. Because compassion, true compassion, isn't free. It's doing something selfless, but that doesn't make it free.