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Somebody else’s unhappiness should not be the measure of my happiness

Francisco Miraval

Last week something happened to me that I have never experienced before: my two cars stopped working the same day at almost the same time and at the same place. The problem was solved just a few hours later, but it was enough for me to be unhappy with my luck, until I saw an old man pushing a bike. Let me share some details.

My son and I, each of us driving a different car, went to a certain place to attend an event. After the event ended, when I was still talking with some people, my son went to the parking lot and came back a few minutes later telling me his car was not working. Unable to restart the car, we called AAA and asked for help.

One hour later, the technician arrived. Since things seemed to be going well, I went to my car and, when I tried to start it, it did not. What was an inconvenient now became a problem and a mystery. Because a second car was involved, I had to call AAA again and wait for a second technician.

It was a long wait, or so it seemed to me. It was at the end of the day and I just wanted to solve the car problems as soon as possible and to go home. While waiting for the technician and the tow truck to arrive, I was wondering why all those “bad” things were happening to me.

I was reciting in my mind a long list of all the problems caused by the fact both of my cars stopped working at the same time and place on the very same day. Then, suddenly, an old man pushing a bike entered the parking lot where I was “patiently” waiting for the AAA technician to arrive.

The old man was wearing an old, rugged T-shirt and old jeans. Pushing his bike, he passed near where I was standing. His bike had a huge basket on the front, where the old man put all kind of objects. The old man left his bike in a corner of the parking lot and then, in order, went to check each of the three garbage containers in that parking lot.

Using a stick with an improvised hook at the end, the old man removed some objects from the containers, including an old iron board, parts of furniture, and many cans. After that, with the basket full of objects, he vigorously pushed his bike out of parking lot and left the place. Without a doubt he was going to the next parking lot.

After I asked myself what was the point of complaining about “problems” that can be solved with a couple of phone calls and a visit to a car repair shop. I then realized that the struggles of other should not be used to measure my happiness. What is the point of having two good cars when an old mean needs to collect garbage to survive?

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