In response to what we’ve just discussed, I’m now making a conscious effort to be a little more tolerant and forgiving.  

Case in point:  that driver who feels compelled to shove the nose of his car dangerously (as well as revoltingly) close to the butt-end tailpipe of the vehicle in front of him.  Maybe he’s just a teenager who hasn’t yet grasped reaction times and stopping distances. Or how about the other driver who suddenly speeds up just as I’m passing her?  Maybe she’s only taking a social cue from the “herd,” and believes she has some sort of obligation to keep up with the rest.

I realize changes like these aren’t exactly evidence of sainthood, but at least they move me a little bit in the right general direction.  

Also, I’m hoping that a common attitudinal quirk kicks in for me the same way it has for many others.  It’s an aspect of human nature that I learned about in a summer job where I was being trained to sell magazines to people in their homes.  My mentor told me that a good way to get someone to warm up to you—especially on a hot summer afternoon—is to ask them for a drink of water.  It turns out that people like you a lot better when they can do something to help you.

I find this nugget of information not only charming, but outright refreshing, in a world where people do so many awful things to one another.  I really should try to think of it more often.

Also, my hope is that when and if I have an afterlife in which all I can really do with myself is give good advice and encouragement to people—and in a way that enables them to believe these are actually their own thoughts—I’ll find I’m responding to them in at least as positive a way as those people who gave me a glass of water when I showed up at their doorsteps.

My niceness quotient may also get a boost (although largely undeserved) from being in a situation where wanting things for myself would be by definition a futile exercise, and engaging in a positive manner with other beings would be the only alternative to total boredom—for eternity.

I’ll admit that I’ve never been big on just-plain hanging out with people, but I harbor hopes that I’ll get at least a little better at it if there’s absolutely nothing else to do.  And on top of this, some of that hanging out might be done with entities like my distant but much-admired ancestor, St. Erlembaldo of Milan. (Provided of course, that he’s not too bored with me.)

Also in preparation for whatever may come next, I’ve lately devoted a bit of study to the role models I encounter in, of all places, the dog park.  Especially golden retrievers.  Goldens are big and strong enough that not many other dogs can seriously threaten or cow them—yet at the same time, they’re not looking to threaten or cow anyone else.  That’s the kind of role model I want to emulate.

Golden retrievers’ unfearing approach to socializing also offers a clear example of how it’s a lot easier to like those who can’t hurt you.  And come to think of it, what can anyone do to harm a disembodied soul?

In addition to this, I’m “learning to learn” from those I once taught.  Prime case in point:  my son, who’s always been able to find something interesting and likeable in just about anyone.

I believe constructively cultivating this kind of humility and appreciation for others is something Jesus would approve of far more heartily than abjectly groveling before him and his dad—especially if this display is ultimately rooted merely in fear of a whuppin’.

I also get a sense that the role I’m aspiring to play synchs pretty well with what he said about the meek inheriting the earth—with “meek” equating to “humble,” and used to connote setting aside our own selfish and vain wants and egos to focus instead on what we can do for the other beings around us—and in so doing, become part of the only living entity that's ever been immortal.