I sat in a hospital surgical waiting room Monday with my grandmother, mom and dad. Trying to distract myself from worry, I was very observant of those around me.

Everyone there was in a similar state as ours. My heart was aching in fear I’d lose one of my heroes, my grandfather. I was scared for my grandma who was trying so hard to be strong.

I was thinking about the time I was little, in the hospital, and my grandpa brought me this little teddy bear I still have in my room – how soft it is now and how its nose is squashed up against its face from the countless nights I slept with it.

I was thinking how just a day before he told me not to worry about him or be sad. I couldn’t get out of my head telling him I love him as he was lying in a hospital bed and seeing tears in his eyes for the first time in 21 years.

I felt lost and scared, but I looked around and realized I wasn’t alone. The waiting room housed vulnerability, fear and care. Its visitors were worried about mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, daughters, sons, etc., as well.

And each time the phone rang or in walked a doctor wearing scrubs with his surgical mask pulled down around his neck, everyone turned to look at the people being addressed. You could see in their eyes they were wishing good news to each other. When was the last time I saw people paying attention to others? Have I really ever seen people show relief at other peoples’ fortunes?

In one of my classes recently we had a discussion about “desensitization.” We talked about how things in life don’t touch people like they may have in the past. The discussion led to compassion.

When do we step out of our own self-crafted little bubbles? Some of my classmates, fellow students soon to be let out into the real world, shared a belief, for example, that homeless people have alternatives and just don’t seize the opportunities available to them to be successful. They believe they are more fortunate because they chose the right paths.

And even more disappointing was the perspective that many of these people are physically and mentally unable to find jobs.

Many fought for our country years ago, risking their lives so we could have what America offers today. Some produce newspapers like Streetwise and sell them for a hopeful profit, some beat on buckets with their hands and others tell jokes.

All they’re asking for is our spare change or one warm meal when most of us have at least three available each day. They live and die, and few people even notice.

But they are human, too. They’re people, wrapped in dirty coats and scarves watching freshly dry-cleaned designer suits pass them, faces partially blocked by cell phones revealing not even so much as a sympathetic look.

I guess I’ve never understood why showing compassion is looked at as a weakness. I don’t know where the “You’re not cool unless you’re heartless” attitude came from. It’s everywhere, though, and it sincerely breaks my heart.

Perhaps it’s our personal quests for success that hold us back from caring for others. There is so much competition; we can’t lose our focus. But could allowing a tear to swell over our lashes, dropping some change in a bucket, asking someone how we might help them really make us fall behind our competition?

Hopefulness and well wishes in a waiting room made everyone feel safe and stronger with support. Would that change with the venue? Does it take a near-tragedy for people to be willing to show they care?

Take the chance of not looking cool and tough. Donate blood. Buy lunch for people who can’t buy it themselves. Let people know you’re there for them if they need or just want a friend. Let the world know you care.

And if it’s really yourself you’re worried about, I can almost guarantee someday you’ll be wishing someone else would do one of those things for you.