This post will be a story; and a story of a young man’s internal conflict. On Accidental heroism, and the vanity of it all.
I remember it vividly. I remember it well.
It was a gray morning. I remember it as a hefty sense of morning tiredness - Bleary eyed, I had gotten off the bus, sauntering towards work. There was a long day ahead of a visit programme with a client, and much to do and be mindful of. I was distant and inattentive. I noticed a few policeman, presumably temporarily detaining and discussing around a person. Inconsequential really.
Untill the person in question makes a break from it. I describe the ordeal as bizarre, amongst most things.
In slow motion, I saw him making a beeline in my direction - clearly this guy was a on the run. And it was in that instant that it felt - almost like a chore. A sequence of events that played out a scenario, like a storyboard of a comic strip.
And it was the strangest of feelings.
I dropped my bag, without undue action, but with a slight amount of patient care, knowing there was a laptop in it.
I lowered my centre of gravity and stuck out my arms wide. Zero thought. Just instinct. By this stage, I could see the features of the man. Wide-eyed and ready to break, a true rabid flight or fight reaction.
In the next second, the thought kicked in - do I tackle high or low? Around this moment, and officer had noticed and in similar slow motion, started to chase, albeit it clumsily with a large helmet on - there was no way he could have outpaced this lightfooted man to be honest.
As we entered the critical moment, the persons attempts to cut in through my right. But wide open arms made for a good net, and we both fell - heavily- onto the pavement under the awning. I was on my back and I remember my glasses flying off a considerable distance and clutching him without a single thought in my head. I’d acknowledge the sharp elbows cutting into my ribs however, and the heaviness of a body on my chest.
Soon after the police came, prying him off and leading them to do their own struggles.
What happened next was one of the most surreal moments of my life. Once sufficiently clear. I stood up, dusted myself off, while a pedestrian somewhat feebly tried to pass me my glasses. I picked up my bag, and walked off, avoiding all eye contact; all attention.
All I had to show for it was a scuff and dirt marks on my G2000 shirt, a few grazes on my ribs and the bruises on my back from the impact. There was no fear, just had to do the right thing.
But the short walk to the office was such a complex mix of feelings. I felt embarrassed? For doing something so prominent I felt worried about work, for this was not the way to start a long day ahead (and wanting to look clean and professional) and then I felt…upset…that no one knew who I was and what I had done.
I went about the day as I did, and attended the full work day’s events as I had to.
But it served as a data point for introspection. I behaved - immediately - according to my values. I believe that this was a rare, true test of courage and character to do the “right” thing.
But then my ego and vanity crept in. I was certain it was the “right” thing to do, but for whom and for what? For society? I was left feeling frustrated at being unrecognised. That my name could appear in the headlines for a good civilian deed; a pat on the back from the policeman on duty.
All in all, I feel almost a sense of shame; of the extent to which I was uncomfortable of having let this opportunity for glory slip by me. My shame in my selfishness makes it difficult to be proud and content - as I want to feel - that I did the right thing.
Recalling this story, four and a half years later stirs up some of these conflicted feelings.. I feel heroic, but crave the vanity that deeply contradicts my general values of being under the radar and avoiding the public eye. In a strange way I felt i had to “confess” my heroic acts to a few close family members and friends. At least the incident has been immortalised on a Stomp post on Stamford road and sometimes consider if it is safe to make such a connection in a public domain. The shame of craving recognition feels too great, casting a pall on something good. One of the many facets of an inexplainable and contradictory human psyche.