No one owes me anything.

In 1966, Harry Browne wrote a brilliant essay for his then-9-year-old daughter.

I've had a few moments in the last couple months where I've needed to take special note of the lessons contained in the essay, and so I'm leaving it here as a reminder to myself.

A Gift for My Daughter

by Harry Browne

December 25, 1966

(This article was originally published as a syndicated newspaper column, dedicated to my 9-year-old daughter.)

It’s Christmas and I have the usual problem of deciding what to give you. I know you might enjoy many things — books, games, clothes.

But I’m very selfish. I want to give you something that will stay with you for more than a few months or years. I want to give you a gift that might remind you of me every Christmas.

If I could give you just one thing, I’d want it to be a simple truth that took me many years to learn. If you learn it now, it may enrich your life in hundreds of ways. And it may prevent you from facing many problems that have hurt people who have never learned it.

The truth is simply this:

No one owes you anything.

Significance

How could such a simple statement be important? It may not seem so, but understanding it can bless your entire life.

No one owes you anything.

It means that no one else is living for you, my child. Because no one is you. Each person is living for himself; his own happiness is all he can ever personally feel.

When you realize that no one owes you happiness or anything else, you’ll be freed from expecting what isn’t likely to be.

It means no one has to love you. If someone loves you, it’s because there’s something special about you that gives him happiness. Find out what that something special is and try to make it stronger in you, so that you’ll be loved even more.

When people do things for you, it’s because they want to — because you, in some way, give them something meaningful that makes them want to please you, not because anyone owes you anything.

No one has to like you. If your friends want to be with you, it’s not out of duty. Find out what makes others happy so they’ll want to be near you.

No one has to respect you. Some people may even be unkind to you. But once you realize that people don’t have to be good to you, and may not be good to you, you’ll learn to avoid those who would harm you. For you don’t owe them anything either.

Living your Life

No one owes you anything.

You owe it to yourself to be the best person possible. Because if you are, others will want to be with you, want to provide you with the things you want in exchange for what you’re giving to them.

Some people will choose not to be with you for reasons that have nothing to do with you. When that happens, look elsewhere for the relationships you want. Don’t make someone else’s problem your problem.

Once you learn that you must earn the love and respect of others, you’ll never expect the impossible and you won’t be disappointed. Others don’t have to share their property with you, nor their feelings or thoughts.

If they do, it’s because you’ve earned these things. And you have every reason to be proud of the love you receive, your friends’ respect, the property you’ve earned. But don’t ever take them for granted. If you do, you could lose them. They’re not yours by right; you must always earn them.

My Experience

A great burden was lifted from my shoulders the day I realized that no one owes me anything. For so long as I’d thought there were things I was entitled to, I’d been wearing myself out — physically and emotionally — trying to collect them.

No one owes me moral conduct, respect, friendship, love, courtesy, or intelligence. And once I recognized that, all my relationships became far more satisfying. I’ve focused on being with people who want to do the things I want them to do.

That understanding has served me well with friends, business associates, lovers, sales prospects, and strangers. It constantly reminds me that I can get what I want only if I can enter the other person’s world. I must try to understand how he thinks, what he believes to be important, what he wants. Only then can I appeal to someone in ways that will bring me what I want.

And only then can I tell whether I really want to be involved with someone. And I can save the important relationships for those with whom I have the most in common.

It’s not easy to sum up in a few words what has taken me years to learn. But maybe if you re-read this gift each Christmas, the meaning will become a little clearer every year.

I hope so, for I want more than anything else for you to understand this simple truth that can set you free: no one owes you anything.

Sometimes, I feel like my life isn't moving fast enough, and that the relationships that I want to have with people I care about aren't reciprocated quite in the ways I'd most prefer... and when I feel this way, I think I really need to remember two things.

The first is everything Harry Browne just wrote. No one owes me anything... If people love me, it's because they value something about me, and the only thing I can do as a person is make myself more lovable and spend more time listening and caring enough about those people to find out how to make them happy.

The second thing is also just to remember in these moments how incredibly lucky I am already.

The anxiety that I - and probably most people - feel about my life is probably unnecessary. I get to do what I love to do, I get to spend most of my time with people I care deeply about.

Life is good.

Minor Heartbreaks...

Since Monday, I've been in New York City, filming an insane number of interviews (25) for a new documentary project I'm producing on the story of Hector Ricketts and the much put-upon commuter van industry in the outer boroughs.

I've had an incredible time here, not only because everybody I've met and interacted with for the project has been amazingly generous, kind and interesting... and not only because to date, I'm actually shockingly happy with the overall quality of audio & video I've managed to capture here and will be starting the editing process in the next week with about 16 hours worth of actually very good raw footage... but also because along the way I've been able to have a few uniquely New York experiences - like randomly meeting a musical idol of mine while at the Birdland jazz club in midtown on Monday evening, and like seeing a truly bizarre "noise" music trio in the East Village tonight.

Tonight was my last night in New York City, and I won't miss the freezing temperatures, the cramped quarters, the generally pitiful excuse for "grocery stores" and modern amenities, or the hectic schedule I've kept... nor, to be honest, will I miss the fact that Jamaica is so ridiculously far away from Manhattan. But I will miss the same aspects I missed when I moved out of this city after graduate school, 5 and a half years ago.

I'll miss the vibrant diversity of socio-economic and ethnic identities. I will the great miss the music found everywhere in the city. I will miss the uniqueness of this place.

Unfortunately... This post isn't actually about any of that.

Instead, this post is about a young woman - perhaps not over 25 - who I encountered on the E train out to Jamaica, Queens tonight just a couple hours ago. She was sitting on one side of the subway car, and no one was sitting anywhere near her.

When I walked on the train at the 53rd and Lexington Avenue stop and sat down across from her, an older gentleman tried to sit down next to her, and she started shoving some papers under where he intended to sit, cautioning him to "watch out for all the snow!". He was confused, and - like most of us at 1:00 in the morning - obviously rather tired. He didn't push the issue, however. Somewhat grumpily, he continued to stand until a seat opened up at the next stop.

She also muttered something about how "now they have the cameras for me...", clearly responding to the camera I had strapped around my neck.

You see, my assistant Dylan and I had spent the whole day shooting b-roll for the documentary in the city, and I never went back to the hotel before meeting my dear friend Jessica Willis (who saved my sanity at a very tough point in my own life a couple years ago) at a Korean restaurant and attending this strange music show in the East Village.

So I carried my camera around, and this young woman obviously noticed it. Her response was to cover her face with her coat.

During the course of my very long train-ride, she would also periodically lean way over and touch the floor of the train with her first fingers, while muttering to herself under her breath, and then she would make gestures with her right hand - which I noticed had a wristband on it that was of the type usually given to patients at hospitals.

Her clothes were unclean and did not fit her, she wore no bra and she was swimming in her loose shirt. Her jacket was red, and her hair was almost as short as mine.

Without rushing to judgments, I would assume she was both homeless and emotionally or mentally disturbed in some way or another... and for most of the train ride, I was prepared - as New Yorkers often are - to simply go about my business ignoring her and then get off the train when we arrived at my stop.

But then something interesting happened.

She looked at me and asked me for a business card. I must have looked puzzled, so she asked if she could have my phone number. She then began to rummage through the large garbage back filled with what appeared to be miscellaneous garbage - papers, wrappers, plastic or styrofoam cups and the like - for something to write on.

I didn't really know what to say, but it seemed silly to me to watch her go through this trash to find something to write my phone number on, and for a brief moment I debated giving her a fake number or trying to find some other way to reject her request. But for whatever reason, I chose instead to reach into my pocket and hand her one of my cards.

She took it and thanked me kindly.

She then read it and again pulled her coat up over her head. While she did this, I somewhat quietly turned my camera back on and snapped a single picture of her.

As we got nearer to the stop I needed to transfer to the final stage of my commute out to Jamaica, she looked up at me again and said, "Thank you, Mr. Malone."

As I stood up to exit the train, she stood up too and held out her hand. I took it. It was dry and a bit coarse, but she was lucid and her eyes met mine directly.

She thanked me again, and asked me where I had gotten my camera. Again, I wasn't certain what she really wanted the information for, and I believe after removing my ear-muffs, I answered, "B&H photo, I think...". Offhand, I couldn't really remember. I was carrying my Canon T2i, which I bought over two years ago.

As I left the train, she said she would call me.

While the doors shut behind me, I stood on the same platform waiting for the F-train, and as the E-train I had been on pulled out of the station, she waved at me politely and smiled to me through the window.

I do not know her name.

I do not know where she was from. I do not know why she was so probably homeless, nor why she had been in the hospital - or why she had been released. I do not know anything about her at all, and I am completely heartbroken for whatever experience she may have had that led her to that train in that condition tonight.

In all likelihood, my business card will be lost in among all the other papers in her garbage sack... and then, quite possibly some social worker or police officer will - "for her own good" - throw out the bag entirely. And beyond that, of course, what phone could she use to call me, and what would she say?

But... What could I possibly even say in response to her if she ever does?

A Short Story.

I wrote this in a little moleskin notebook a few years ago. I found it tonight.

"Rhythmatick, rhythmatock."

"What?"

John looked up from his drink for the first time in what felt like days. Lost in contemplation, it was the strangeness of Tom Waits that broke his unintentional concentration.

"Oh well," John thought. It wasn't as if he had had a single concrete thought in hours.

Looking up at the time, John realized he was late. He didn't care anyway. It didn't matter anymore. She was gone.

"Still," John reasoned, "it's time to go."

After tossing a few bucks at his drink, he grabbed his jacket and stepped outside. As the door of the bar closed with a dull thud, John realized how cold it was. A little bit too cold, actually.

Nothing to be done though, so John pulled his zipper up to his neck and shoved his hands in his pockets. The fine brown leather of his collar rubbed against his chin with each step he took, the chilling air nipping at his exposed skin.

The city didn't seem to notice.

It was Saturday, and the club girls waiting in lines wore miniskirts and sparkling, desperately thin, tops.

No coats.

As John pushed his way through the crowds, he couldn't help but laugh at the way the girls stood next to each other, each shivering like a wet Bichon Frisé. The boys didn't offer their jackets either.

As John thought about the end of chivalry, he stumbled.

The mob of careless, drunken fools was beginning to get intolerable. John had to get away from the crowd.

Perhaps a side street would get him there faster.

What do you think?

To be honest, I can't remember what I was feeling when I wrote it. But now I find it interesting... and anomalous, since I so rarely write pure fiction of any kind.

Perhaps I should.