I am not a quiet person. I don’t sneak up behind people, they see me coming, they can hear my footfall and feel my presence in the room before I make myself known. I usually enter rooms by pushing doors open with strength, not subtlety. My voice carries, even as I whisper.

I am trying to make less of an impact upon my environment, I am trying to be that person in the room that no one sees until he speaks. I actively think about entering rooms and leaving rooms with out people taking notice. I don’t know how well this is working yet.

All of this to set the stage: I am aggressive.

Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?

Compassion. I don’t know that I had ever really thought about compassion before a few months ago. I started to read about meditation and mindfulness. I wanted to learn to calm my mind, to control my emotions and to still my tongue. Along the way I started to read more about Buddhism. Now I have quite a little library dedicated to The Buddha and the various forms of Buddhism practiced around the world. I lean more to the northern Buddhism, specifically Tibetan form of Vajray?na Buddhism.

Back to compassion though; I found that I started to see the world differently. Buddhism teaches that there is no division, no boundaries between you and I. We are all linked together, one organism in a way. My upbringing was one of Christian values, that whole love thy neighbor thing. I believe in that, no doubt, and I have always tried to look out for others. I was gifted with size and as such I have kind of always thought it was my lot in life to protect those who can not protect themselves. That doesn’t always work out in my favor.

Now that I am seeing the homeless as simply me, that changes how I think of their plight. The starving child on the television, the old man driving the boat on the interstate… they are all me. If that doesn’t change your attitude - nothing will.

Suddenly the homeless guy near our office isn’t someone who I blindly drive by every day. I mean sure, I occasionally gave him a buck or two if I had them handy, but now I actually say hello to him as well. He is a really nice guy too.

You know something; he was always just the ‘Can Guy’ carrying his garbage bag full of soda cans who waved at you and smiled, acknowledging you and saying “Have a good day” in his own way. Now I have to wonder what he knows that I don’t, what keeps him moving forward, what allows him to be able to smile and wish me a good day? Is it altruistic or is he only doing it in the hopes that I will offer him something in return?

Maybe he is like a sadhu, maybe he is a simple holy man and this is how he chooses to live.

My aggressive nature is hard to suppress, even with those who should only see compassion from me. Well, I guess everyone should only see compassion from each of us really, but you know what I mean. With my family, my wife, my children even, sometimes I have to remind myself to calm down, to lower my voice.

Just a few nights ago my son told me it worried him when I spoke in a low voice, that it meant I was really upset. I laughed at that, but it is sad.

So I am trying. Can you tell?

A few months ago I lost someone whom I always considered my uncle. He was not related to my family by blood, but rather by friendship, sometimes that is stronger than blood though. I had grown up thinking that his family was related to us, I guess I thought that his wife was my mother’s sister, they even look alike. They were and are best friends, so we simply spent a lot of time together as families.

I am grown now and I long ago realized that we were not actually blood relatives, but that never really mattered to us. I do not actually see his daughter much anymore, but she is still someone I consider family. I see his wife, my ‘aunt’, more often and though we do not sit and talk, we do exchange hugs and that look that tells each other that we are special and loved.

At his funeral I was sitting in a pew with my wife, my sister and my mother. My mom was strong and though I know she was hurting for the loss of her friend and for her best friend, she smiled a lot at people that she spoke to that day. That stayed with me.

The lesson I really paid attention to that day was deeper though: make your life mean something.

I listened that day to his friends and co-workers talk about the kind of man he was, the kind of friend and person he was. I had known he was a good father already, and he was a nice guy to me growing up. He even offered me advice when I was joining the Corps. But now I was hearing about him from his co-workers and from the people that worked for him.

They missed his voice, his reassuring hand on their back, his leadership and his trust. This hit home to me, I started to wonder what my friends and family would say if that was me in the casket one day soon. Would they beam about me? Would they tell stories about how I had made their life better? Would they mourn not having me with them every day?

I don’t know if I became a better person that day, but I know I started thinking about my legacy then. How will I be seen tomorrow by the people that are in my life? I know my wife would miss me, I know my children would and my family would. But the people I see in the hallway at work, would they miss me? Have I been good to them? Have I touched their life in a way that was helpful and sincere? Did I offer them anything that was worthwhile on their journey?

The Buddha said “Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.”

My uncle clearly lit thousands of candles, now I am working on it too.