Compassion...?

When I was a kid, I thought I could save the world. I know, I know- I also thought I would be a heart-transplant surgeon, that God was real, and that my dad was a real-life superhero. And then I grew up, and along with realizing that Biology was my arch-nemesis (preventing me from being a surgeon), I also realized that there was faaaar too much hate, drudgery, mistrust and greed in the world to ever really "save" it.
But no natter how much I tried to be pragmatic about it, and no matter how busy my own personal life has been, there's a feeling in me I cannot ignore. It's the same feeling that compelled me to stop, stare at Howard's photo, and commit to sponsoring someone I would probably never meet, in a country I barely heard of, with the last dollars in the bank account of a broke university student. It's like, as soon as I looked in his curiously miserable, yet underlyingly happy face, I could not turn away. And knowing myself, my values, and all of the things I preach to others, I knew that if it was in my hands to help this little boy, I could not just simple turn away.
Its the same feeling I get every time I get an updated newsletter from Invisible Children, about the un-declining problem of child combatants around the world. Again, how can I comfortably and safely live my life, often complaining about such relatively minor things as school and work; halfway across the world there are kids who will never even have the opportunity to go to school or work because they're too busy being forced to kill their own family and villagers (as child soldiers).
What is that gnawing feeling? What is it that drives me to attend "Free Palestine" rallies and events, to sponsor a little Zimbabwean boy, and to dispense every non-perishable food item in my house to the "needy" every time a holiday rolls around? Why is it so hard for me to ignore newspaper articles about social injustice? WHY are my personal library shelves full of books about anthropology, historically disenfranchised groups, social welfare and justice, and stories of the trials and tribulations of those who suffer?

Is it my own political motives? I have to disagree. By virtue of my own political views and values, that would have me wearing "Free Tibet" t-shirts, or handing out pamphlets condemning the Afghan and Iraq wars. I should probably even be out there scolding people who litter or leave their taps on too long. But the truth is, the environment is not up on the list of priorities for me, and although I am a whole-hearted pacifist, I've gotta admit I haven't really stood up against these most recent wars.

WHAT makes me get that "feeling of distress and pity for the suffering or misfortune of another, often including the desire to alleviate it" that defines compassion? Is this something we all go through and then ignore as our own lives crumble or flourish around us? I would have to disagree. Being an innate "humanitarian" is a part of my identity that cannot be easily shaken off. Trying to help the underdog and the oppressed is something I feel deeply about; I STILL THINK I CAN SAVE THE WORLD. 
No, this is who I am. And whether this is something I sub-consciously do to satisfy my own selfish motives, or whether these are selfless acts done in the spirit of being human (this whole idea of comradery I'm fixated on), I may never actually discover. I do know one thing, though- I will always admire and appreciate my mom's emphasis on compassion growing up, and her attempts at making us realize the world is so much more than what we see happening in the tiny vessels of our individual lives.
With that said, I urge you to go forth and 
BE THE CHANGE YOU WISH TO SEE