I was cranky, hungry and past the point of exhaustion. It had been a wonderful day spent in the city of Boston with my family, but I was ready to sit down, rest and satisfy my insatiable hunger. The sun was beginning to set, but we were still walking around the quaint, large city, trying to find a restaurant to have dinner. My legs hurt, my arms were stiff from giving piggyback rides to my younger cousins, I felt like I was literally dying of thirst, and on top of it all, I had a searing headache that made everything worse.

Me, me, me. All I could think about was me. We all have those moments where we seem to be a bit more selfish than selfless, and let me tell you, I was being selfish. All I wanted to do was find somewhere with air conditioning to sit down, drink water and eat dinner. Not too much to ask for, right?

We were walking up an uneven, cobblestone sidewalk when we came up to a little courtyard with picnic benches in the heart of the Italian side of the city. It was adorable, with the stone and brick houses, the aroma of fresh baked bread escaping from open windows (I'm not making this up, it smelt delicious), and a couple of families sitting around tables in the middle of it all. Immediately, my 10-year-old, twin cousins hopped over to the small courtyard and started seeing who could balance the best on the uneven cobblestones. They were playing like little kids do, making up imaginary games as they pleased.

At that moment, I looked up and my eyes were immediately drawn to a young girl sitting at a picnic table with her parents, and sister. I didn't see her wheelchair at first that she was sitting in, or the food she was slowly putting into her mouth because it was difficult for her to do on her own, or the way her back was stretched as straight as a needle while her legs were stiff and still, immobile.

It was her face that I saw right away, and the look of longing as she watched my cousins, who were most likely the same age as her, running around and playing freely. Her eyes are what I remember most, so wide and beautiful, yet so sad because she knew that would never be her. Something as simple as running and playing with my own sister had never made me think twice, in fact, it was something I took for granted up until that moment. This young, wide-eyed, handicapped stranger made me stop dead in my tracks and take a step back. Life is not all about me. The universe does not revolve around me. I have been blessed with more people and personal abilities in my life than I even know how to fully comprehend. That precious moment of realization woke me up from the pity party I was throwing for myself that day.

So to the stranger who humbled me, thank you.