Whenever you do something good, your heart naturally rejoices — it feels alive because someone feels better, because your help made a difference. And somewhere deep inside, a little voice quietly ticks off a box, whispering, “Well done. Keep doing good. You’re kind, you’re better than most, you’re great.”
That voice? It’s pride. I don’t like pride, yet it lives inside all of us. It always tries to rise to the surface. It whispers, “Someone needs help? Be the hero. Help them, and your self-esteem will soar!” It promises that doing good makes you better, worthy, exceptional.
But I don’t want to help because of that voice, or for the praise, or for feeling grand. I want to help simply so someone’s life becomes a little easier — even if just for moments — so their day brightens, or maybe even sparkles, because something positive entered their world unexpectedly, like a small gift from fate.
I know we shouldn’t reject any part of ourselves — even pride. It’s there, and it can stay. Praising ourselves isn’t harmful. What really matters is motivation. Why help? For whom? At the core, we all do things for ourselves — even when we want to see joy light up someone else’s eyes. That’s a kind of selfish altruism — and that’s okay. For truly good people, there’s no greater joy than giving joy to others… But still…
I don’t always help when I could. Even when only I could offer the help. Sometimes I’m lazy. Sometimes my own concerns seem more important. Of course, I have the right to live my life — my own way. But what kind of life is that? I have refused to help many times when people needed me — for various reasons. Sometimes because I didn’t want to leave my comfy chair, sometimes out of greed, sometimes even revenge (because once no one helped me, so why help now?). It leaves a bad feeling inside me.
Conscience — that internal voice of morality — is a mysterious thing. Was it given to us or raised within us? I don’t know. It feels like I wasn’t taught to help or empathize — but maybe that’s not true. Maybe it came from how my parents behaved, how they related to people and life. Or maybe that pure sense of right and kindness, empathy and sympathy, is universal — given to all of us from above. I won’t dive deeper into that here…
What I do believe is this: if morality — that pure standard for judging deeds, truth, kindness — is the same inside all of us, then perhaps the difference between people’s behavior comes down to how strongly each person suppresses that inner conscience — that voice that regulates our kindness. I hold onto something I once heard and deeply believe: “We are as kind as we are able to tame the animal within us…”
Why share all this? Because after years of consciously working to shift my thinking toward the positive — away from negative judgments about life — I’ve begun to taste sweet fruit. It’s like training your body. For a long time, nothing seems to change, but suddenly — suddenly — your body becomes stronger, more flexible, more obedient.
The same is true for the mind, the soul. You can work for years and think nothing’s changed — but it has. It’s there. You just have to want it deeply, and most importantly, clearly understand what it is you truly want.
