Even with good intentions, approaching a stranger is a daunting task for most people. It is made that much more uncomfortable when you have to assume they need help and then make the assumption that they won't reject yours, leaving you feeling rejected and doubting your own assessment of the situation. I mean it looked as if they needed help, so why not yours? I don't have all the answers, but just as it was hard for you to approach this person, it is sometimes equally hard to accept help from a stranger. I, as a person who will offer my assistance at the drop of a hat (or any other object, I will actually pick it up for you), will often reject help from strangers because I don't want them to share my burden. Some people just dread the prospect that small talk could ensue after.
With all of that said, still there is a certain type of satisfaction that fills you up when you lend a helping hand to a stranger, hopefully whether or not they thank you. Even if they refused assistance, you acted on good intentions and should be happy about it.
For the past few days I have been helping friends move their belongings from storage to their dorm rooms, rearranging their rooms, changing their bed heights, and carrying boxes despite the fact that I moved in almost 2 weeks ago.
As a matter of fact, this past Sunday I was leaving the Broadway residence hall after helping two friends move some of their things from storage when I noticed that those same two friends had stopped to help another student trying to push a bin full of large boxes on the slanted sidewalk alongside the building. I rushed over and before even asking if they wanted help I recommended we transfer some of their boxes to another bin and so we did.
I followed behind this person down the service ramp to the elevator, pushing a heavy bin full of boxes that did not belong to me, all the while in the back of my mind worried that my assistance was weird or I had already done more than the person wanted. What's more is that when the student got on the elevator with the bin they were pushing and went up without telling me what floor to go to, I waited.
I remarked to the family also waiting for the elevator that I didn't know the student so I didn't know where to bring their items. But after the family got on the next elevator and I was left to wait by myself, I realized that I wasn't annoyed in the slightest, only worried. Not worried that the student would leave me there for long, but after trying to lift some of the boxes and realizing just how heavy they were I was worried that the student would come back down and say that they could take it from there.
Reflecting on my thoughts at the time it appeared that I have some compulsive need to help, but in reality I was more concerned that my assistance was making the student uncomfortable enough for them to no longer want it. Now there are a number of reasons that this was a concern for me, but the biggest one is simply that I overthink everything. Because the student did not refuse my help and I ended up bringing some of the boxes into their room before they thanked me greatly, we finally introduced ourselves, and parted ways.
To some this may seem like an unsatisfactory ending, but for me its the only one I really look forward to. Even if the student didn't thank me, and I knew that going in, I would have still helped them, because they needed it.
This isn't meant to come off as preachy or to suggest that if you don't go out of your way to help a stranger you're somehow a bad person. My aim is to highlight the courage that goes into going that extra mile to "do the right thing" and that you shouldn't feel bad about yourself because you psyched yourself out of it. I mean maybe that person looks like they need help, but they also look like they have an attitude. I won't even go so far to say there is a "right" or "good" reason to help a stranger.
What I do know is that a couple of weeks ago I was getting off the train in the Bronx, on my way home and offered a lady with a stroller help getting down the stairs. At the bottom of the flight she kept thanking me and telling me that my mom must've raised me right. This is partially true because though she never outright told me to help strangers and in fact usually told me to try not to get involved in situations, would also tell me stories of how she would intervene if she witnessed a kid being jumped. Stories that drive an eldest son insane with worry.
My mom would tell me what actions she took, but as a courageous outspoken woman probably never realized how much courage goes into it. Personally, for years I would sit on the bus or train and fail to give up my seat to an elderly person not because I didn't want to, but because of that fear of rejection. But after some time and enough thank you's what I realized is that the rejections are a lot less memorable than the appreciation. And that if you don't work up that courage, women with strollers will think you weren't raised right. So be courageous when the "right" thing to do is left up to you.
