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In my commute between home and workplace, a distance of something over 150 km, I pass a weigh station.
I pay it little heed, because, driving a passenger car, it does not directly concern me.
Or so I might have thought.
In 1623, British poet John Donne wrote: “No man is an island.”
What concerns another man concerns me.
If I am optimally sentient, I feel his pain.
Maybe taste salt when he weeps.
If we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we believe we have a common Father. Which means we supplicants are all members of the same family.
The family of man.
And every other human I encounter is my relative.
If I subscribe to this notion, I become more aware.
And patient.
And forgiving.
Some have observed we get to choose our friends.
But not our family.
But what if everyone were part of our family?
I am far from perfect, as is every other human being.
Might I be willing to cut them some slack?
The same slack I cut myself?
