Riding High

So, a few months ago, I stopped on my way home late at night.
The woman had a flat tire.
As is turns out, she drives for a living and was her sixth flat tire of the year, and had not had to change any of the other five.
I'd only ever changed one flat tire in my life up to this point, so I made a some mistakes that made it take longer than it otherwise would have.
After 15-20 minutes, I managed to send her on her way.
I started driving home, riding high, feeling good about myself because of what I did.
Here's where the real learning started.
I saw what appeared to be another car in distress.
Viscerally, I rejected the inclination to go over there. I didn't want to stop again. Whoever it was, I didn't want to have to help them.
After a few seconds I realized that I didn't have to after all, because what had appeared to be someone turning on their hazard lights way up the road was actually someone tapping on their brakes.
I was free to go home unbothered, and did, but I was no longer riding high. I knew that I wasn't the saint I wanted to think I was. I knew that mostly what I wanted out of stopping was to have an experience to make me feel like I was a good person. I wanted to get home and have people pat me on the back.
I'm not a saint. I'm not really even a Good Samaritan. For now I'm just OK.