A Curious Question #15: Do intentions matter and if so, to whom?

Photo by Ross Sneddon on Unsplash

I heard a story about intentions the other day that went something like this:

On a busy intersection, an elderly woman struggles to cross the street. A man walks by and sees her. He wants to help, so he offers his assistance and she crosses the street safely.

On different busy intersection, another elderly woman struggles to cross the street. A man who would normally not stop to help sees a beautiful woman on the other side of the street. He offers his assistance to the elderly woman in the hopes of impressing the beautiful one.

In both cases, the net results are the same. An elderly woman made it across the street safely. But the intentions behind the result were very different.

So the question I have for today is this: Do intentions matter and if so to whom?

If I was the elderly woman they don’t seem to matter. Either way, the help I needed arrived and I crossed the street safely.

If I was either man, I’d like to think intentions matter. After all, our intentions behind what we do shows our character. Our intentions reveal who we are on the inside.

If I was the beautiful woman looking to find a good man to date, intentions would matter greatly. I’d like to get to know the first man rather than the second.

That’s my quick and simple 2-cents answer.

What are your thoughts on this one? I invite you to share your own 2-cents.

When Sorrow Shifts to Anger

Photo by Andre Hunter on Unsplash

Back in September, I wrote a post about times when I get tugged back into an old familiar pain. It could be triggered by a photo I see on social media or by meeting someone who reminds me of someone who’s caused me hurt. Something about the photo or the person tugs me back into an old familiar pain. I feel a sting and a wave of grief washes over me.

A painful event happened this weekend that in the past would have caused a wave of sorrow. But this time, what I felt was anger. What I saw caused me to raise both middle fingers in the air, which were accompanied by several slightly audible f-bombs.

I should note, I didn’t express this to the person directly. I ducked into the bathroom first.

Continue reading “When Sorrow Shifts to Anger”