I often take walks down a nature trail behind my house on nice autumn days
and marvel at the majesty and beauty of nature surrounding me.
From time to time I end up walking for hours on end,
contemplating the improbable,  incomprehensible,
radically miniscule chance that I am indeed alive
at this very moment.
I like to think about my life and events that occurred to make me who I am:
the people I met, the things I said, the challenges I overcame,
the adversaries whom I defeated, and the ones I forgave.
I also think about the events in my life filled with regret:
the people I neglected, the ones I hurt,
the ones I hated, and the ones I shunned.
I let my mind wander to the possibilities of who I possibly could be
had I let that person into my home,
or volunteered more time at a shelter,
or was nicer to the ones around me.
I have always tried to live my life without any regrets,
but I find that the more one thinks about life
the more they discover regrets they never realized;
the ones buried deep down in the darkest depths of the heart.
Perhaps it is in my greatest interest simply to ignore the possibility
that I indeed have lived a rather selfish life,
only thinking of myself ,not others,
and hurting those around me in the process.
Perhaps if I were to go on living my life without thinking of others
and simply worry about myself and my own problems
then I'll be happy.
There is a chance that doing so would result in more happiness for me,
but that's exactly the point I have been struggling with:
only happiness for me.
I struggle now with the idea that it is possible I've been neglecting others
in return for personal and private gains,
whether that be fiscally, or emotionally, or physically.
I want to know what life would be like if maybe I were to start to live more for others
and worry less about myself.
I ponder on these nature walks the question of whether or not living for others
is the responsible thing to do, or should I only worry about myself
and from that society will benefit.
I want to help, I really do have a desire to do good in the world,
but every time I begin to start, I falter,
scared that I won't get anything out of it.
So the more and more I contemplate what my problem is,
the more I realize that the problem is me.
There is a little boy inside me that is terrified of doing anything
for the gain of only others and not himself.
The little boy inside me cowers at homeless on the street
and the opportunities to help them.
The little boy inside of me is constantly telling me only to worry about myself
and that the problems of the oppressed are problems only for the oppressed.
So I ponder this question on these nature walks as well:
Are the problems of the poor, the needy, the oppressed, the hungry,
the hurt, and the sick only problems to be fixed by them?
Should I be doing all I can to provide medicine, and food, and money
to those who don't have the opportunities and blessings I do?
I ask myself these questions constantly, perpetually in fear that I am indeed rather selfish.
Along these walks I constantly come across puddles,
whether big, small, large, skinny,
deep, shallow, stagnant, or rippling.
I find myself walking past ponds of many different sizes,
and every time I come to one I continue past it
without looking at all.
I'm terrified to see my reflection and who I really am.