Geiger Counter

A newborn baby girl was abandoned in a cardboard egg box, in deep snow, in -20 Celsius weather outside Novosibirsk two weeks ago. Her life was saved by five teenage boys who spotted the box and picked her up as they walked on the evening of January 7. It was Orthodox Christmas Day. Now, the parents of one of the teenagers have offered to adopt the girl and raise her as their own. That means, essentially, she was found and saved by someone who would become her brother. You probably didn’t see this in your news feed recently. Compared to mindless violence and hollow outrage, it simply cannot generate enough clicks to be truly profitable. So social and legacy media ignore it. But it is as real as any of the things over which people fret and gnash their teeth on Facebook. So many of the most beautiful acts in life are the work of wanderers and passersby. There is value in an organized group of people doing something good, of course, but there is majesty and poetry – and something inherently true and inspiring - in an unplanned act of kindness. When people get together, form a hierarchy, and work to help others through an institution, it is not bad, but it is not necessarily a reflection of their full selves. The spontaneous kindness of a wandering stranger is even more powerful, because it often reveals to us our true nature. The way we behave with forethought, planning and rules and regulations can be a lie, or at least disingenuous, but our spontaneous actions show our true selves. Often, we are far more noble than we ever could have suspected. We are definitely better than what we see on social media and whatever passes for “The News.” It is tempting to look at the world today and feel that people are primarily angry and tribal, because so much of our communication is wrapped up in both literal and virtual mobs. But if you look more closely, you realize that each angry mob is made up of individuals, each with their own stories, their own history, their own future. The other night, as our family sat on the couch, I turned on our television, opened YouTube, and searched for “Acts of Kindness.” Thanks to the way people consume media and a widespread susceptibility to logical fallacies that spreads even faster than Omicron, life in 2022 is basically a relentless barrage of bad news. Even good news is always delivered with a negative spin, because negativity generates more clicks than positivity (or even objectivity), and clicks equal money, so each story about someone who miraculously survived something scary or hard is always couched in a “How can we identify and punish the people responsible for this?” spin. Wanting to escape this for a moment and knowing we would find no respite in corporate legacy media, we spent the next 45 minutes watching videos, captured on cell phones by normal people around the world, of strangers, of wanderers, of random people helping other people. Sometimes, they simply made them smile, hugged them or gave them sandwiches. Sometimes, they literally saved their lives. Sometimes they sang them a song. Sometimes they gave them a kidney. In most cases, they did not know anything about the person they were saving. They did not know whether they were Republicans or Democrats, whether they were gay or straight, rich or poor, wise or foolish. They did not know if they were Hindu or Muslim or Baha’i or Christian or Jewish or Zoroastrian. They simply helped them, because there is an impulse, deep within most people, to help those with whom our paths cross. Of course we are willing to give of ourselves for those who are close to us, that goes without saying, but to pull a complete stranger, someone who might very well support the opposite political party you do - or enjoy those horrendous movies or music, for god’s sake - out of a frozen river, that tells us far more about the nature of human beings. Some of the most enthralling stories through the ages are of Ronin (wandering, master-less Samurai), or of lone western lawmakers, or of lost knights making their way through the wilderness. The idea is always the same; that deep inside, we are inherently good, and if we can free ourselves from the trappings of modern society – be it a rigid medieval court hierarchy or a the modern Metaverse caste system economy – we can truly be ourselves, and truly being ourselves means we will, at least, have an opportunity to be good. My daughter and I are currently re-watching one of our favorite shows, “The Mandalorian.” It’s a Star Wars story about a wandering bounty hunter who begins traveling with a small, seemingly helpless child of infinite value. (Basically, the situation EVERY parent finds themselves in.) As he makes his way from town to town, stories unfold in the ways he helps people, and in the surprising ways people help him and the child. The idea and the imagery come from a much older story, told in comics and movies, called “Lone Wolf and Cub.” In it, a wandering swordsman walks across the Japanese countryside, pushing a baby in a perambulator. The imagery is instantly iconic, because for every single one of us with a child, we all feel, deep in our marrow, that this is us. We wander a hostile world, always on our guard, trying to get our tiny, helpless companion to their destination. Their destination, rather than a physical place, is actually simply the world when we are gone. We hope to deliver them safely there, to the world in our absence. But of course, we do not know exactly where, or when we will die, so for nearly the entirety of our lives, the destination remains a mystery. And so, we wander. Some people read parenting manuals when they are expecting. I skimmed through an edition of “Lone Wolf an Cub” in the hospital on the night my daughter was born. Occasionally, we meet enemies and we need the sword. But on most days, we encounter other wanderers, some of whom we help, and some of whom lend us a hand. I remember once, when I was swimming in a lake on a hot summer day, my daughter, who was only about four years old at the time, played on the shore. As she ran, she tripped on a tree branch and fell, scraping her knee. She began crying. Out of nowhere a man, who apparently had been walking nearby with his own daughter, sprinted over, picking her up and dusting her off. “Estás bien?” he asked warmly. “Okay?” He bought me the few moments I needed to get to shore, and he taught her one of life’s most important lessons: we needn’t be afraid of most strangers. I did not record this small interaction on my phone, and I never learned his name. I have never seen him again. But it did occur. We live in a world where everyone wants to be known, to be famous, to receive credit for appearing to be good. Or so it seems in the virtual realm. But in the real world, the world of sticks and stones and skinned knees, things are different. It is a hostile place, at times, but it is populated by 8 billion Wanderers, the vast majority of whom are ready to reach out their hand, should you ever need it.