So there I was, leaving Costco after a pretty great day.  I worked, I saw my kid, I had a wonderful massage from Denise LaBarre, took myself on a planned pre-birthday shopping spree and was feeling pretty good about life, my place on the planet, the new year and most everything else.

While pushing my cart towards the parking lot, I heard some noise and turned to see a trash can lid rolling around on the ground while a scraggly old dude quickly went through the can. I’m not sure whether he was looking for food or HI-5 recyclables, but I could tell he was trying to complete the search before getting chased away.

I wonder if he’s looking for food, I thought to myself.  Surveying my cart, I found mostly canned goods.  Do people who have to scavenge trash cans have can openers?  I had a great day and would have been happy to hand him a can of soup, if it had been a practical thing to do.

About that time I noticed my $5.00 roasted Costco chicken. I had a big container of tortilla soup in my fridge and knew that tossing some of the chicken in it would be great.  You know what I should do, I thought, I should just hand him this chicken and keep going.  I mean, really.  I have a lot.  Why not?  I thought about this as I pushed my cart towards where I thought I might have parked.  (I never remember).  The entire way I continued the internal discussion.  Maybe when I took my cart back, he’d still be there.  Or when I left, I could drive past the entrance and see if he was still there.  Why didn’t I just give him the damn chicken?

By this time, I was getting rather obsessive about it, I know.  I drove slowly past the entrance and predictably, he was nowhere in sight.

This post isn’t about chickens or scraggly old dudes.  It’s about the kind of person who would simply, reflexively, instinctively hand a roast chicken to someone who didn’t have food and never think twice about it – before, during or after.  It’s about the realization that I am not quite her.  But I want to be.