Compassion is a muscle
I’ve added my voice to the movement. I hope you will too!
As much as I would like to, I don’t believe we are born with compassion. I think we are born with the desire to be compassionate; a desire which becomes as useless as the most beautiful words never spoken, if not acted upon. I think of compassion as a muscle, which gains strength as we use it. We activate its fibers when we don’t avert our eyes and simply walk past the person holding a cardboard sign. It grows and tingles when we offer a hand, a shoulder, or our heart to someone who’s mourning. And it tears and grows stronger still, when, even at our most rock-bottom moments, we extend it to ourselves.
It’s a muscle.
It’s an intention.
It’s a practice.
It’s a choice.
I am over the moon…
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