Today my co-worker and I had a conversation about the spoiled, bratty kids of Generation Y and Z. This category included her own kids. She claimed that often times her kids are ungrateful; that it was always about “me, me, me.”
“What about me??” She asked, half jokingly.
Her words lingered in my mind as I went on my evening run. I sometimes find my sister having those same selfish symptoms but then again, who is to say that I don’t have a similar problem. I’m not from Generation Y or Z. I’m part of Generation X.
Sometimes, I think I’m selfish. One of my symptoms is that I require a bit of “me” time everyday by completing some type of workout. My excuse is that exercise is my outlet from the stress at work and home. This excuse is legitimate until it becomes my top priority; I refuse to let anything get in the way of my “me” time.
For example, I had a spontaneous meet up with a friend after work yesterday. I knew I would be cutting it really close if I went running but I did anyways. I came home from work, changed, strapped on the running shoes, and flew. The rush gave me the adrenaline and motivation I needed to run faster. Yet it was a huge risk. I finished my run in 40 minutes, showered, dressed, ate dinner in 20 minutes and finished just in time before my friend arrived. It was risky but I took that risk because once again, I won’t compromise my workout for anything. I feel my daily workouts boosts my energy, productivity, and lightens my mood. The benefits are too good to trade.
So am I selfish?
Another part of this story happened on the way home from my run today. I ran through our neighborhood and a small round object came flying, barely missing my head by a few inches. I saw two boys on opposite side of the streets, probably playing catch.
As I passed them, the boy to my right said, “I knew you meant to throw the ball at me but you almost hit her.” “Sorry!” He yelled.
I was so surprised at his sharpness of the situation. These boys couldn’t have been past middle school. His words lifted my heart. I turned around and shouted, “Thank you! It’s okay.”
I turned around my head around and kept running. Not long after, the boy to my left who had thrown the little ball shouted, “Sorry!” I silently chuckled.
It felt good to know that there are good kids out there.
It felt good to be kind to one another.
It felt good to know how one event can turn a person’s day around.
Thanks bratty kids. I guess you’re not all bad.