This morning, as I was driving into work, I turned at an intersection and saw a car pulled off to the right with its flashers on. It was dark, so I slowed down as I got closer. Being curious, I took a few quick glances to see what was going on, but all I could make out from behind was a shadow of movement in the car’s headlights.
No one was behind me, so I slowed even more as I drove up alongside. There was a man stooped down and what I had seen from behind in the headlights turned out to be his arm moving as he was gently petting a small cat that was lying in the street. It must’ve been hit. There was no way to tell if this man was the one who had hit the poor animal or had just happened upon it, but it seemed like he was trying to soothe it while it was either in pain or dying. I felt grateful to him for that.
So many things flashed through my mind. The cat was probably someones pet and had a family who would miss it. What if some little girl was in tears because her beloved cat was gone? If this man was the one who hit it, and then took time to comfort it, he must be an animal lover. How was he feeling about this? If the cat was still alive, was it in pain? Did it know what had happened to it? Do cats even think this way? I imagined it being my cat lying motionless in the road, and felt the grief I would feel if I had lost my furry friend. It all played over and over again, like a film on a loop.
My head was spinning and my heart was hurting. For some little girl, for the man, for the cat, and yes, even for my cats who were still alive and well at my house. My breathing became short and then, there it was. The familiar burn of tears threatening to spill over. I quickly blinked a few times, willing myself not to cry. That worked for about two seconds. I had to pull to the side of the road and give in to it. Why do I have to be so sensitive? Why do I bring what I think other people are feeling into my heart. Why does hypothetical grief affect me as if it were real?
I pulled myself together enough to drive the short distance that was left to work, though I whimpered through it. In the parking lot, the images and thoughts came again and I had to sit there and silently weep until it passed. I couldn’t let my colleagues see me all puffy and splotchy. How would I explain that I was bawling over something that didn’t even involve me? Does this happen to anyone else, or am I just weird?
As an introvert, I identify with this a lot! It can be hard feeling things so intensely. Sometimes I see it as a gift and other times it can feel like a curse. You express yourself in a way that people can identify with.