Last night I caught up with a friend and she told me a friend of hers is a doctor who goes and visits asylum seekers twice a month. My face was filled with pity and tragedy, before I’d even heard what she had to say. Oh those poor people. 

She told me there were two men who were “irretrievable”. I asked her what she meant by the word. She went on to explain, that they were so adjusted to the comfortable conditions at the asylum, that they didn’t want to leave for Cambodia, a safe nation to make a home. 
The comforts. Wedded to the comforts, to abandon the freedom. 

Angrily, she said, “They need to get the hell out and make a life. Many of the worlds high court judges are Jews who were kept in Nazi camps, tattooed and brutally mistreated.” No pity for them. 
And I’ve been thinking about it. 
I feel. We make the biggest mistake when we pity people. 

If they’re poor, we pity them for our own wealth. 

If they’re drugged up on the street, we drop coins into their caps. 

If they’re naive teens, hurt by the boy next door, we pity them their youth.

If they’re our own children, sobbing from mistreatment at school, we pity them our cushioned lives. 

If they’re our toddlers rising up on high chairs and falling to a heap, we pity them our scolding and warnings. 
But. Instead of the pity. What if we accepted, that this circumstance has made them more resilient. More open to change and adaptation. 
To pity should be a sin. 

If you aren’t going to make change, your pity is a waste. 

And those upon whom you transcend your pity, could do with a better form of feeling. 
So forsake it. 

For a more resilient person could become of it.