I heard a story about a man who spent his life competing. Any good fortune that came his way only mattered if it overshadowed the luck of his neighbor. In his relentless drive to be ahead, he never enjoyed where he was. One day a genie came and offered a wish. There was a caveat, however. 

"Whatever you ask for, I will grant. And your neighbor will get it twofold."

The man puzzled over this. How could he be happy getting a million dollars if at the same time his rival was given two? He thought about it and finally answered the genie. 

"I want you to blind me in one eye."

The distinction between heavenly joy and selfish satisfaction is stark. One is enduring, while the latter is transient. The first is unrestrained by limits, and invites everyone to the party. Selfish happiness, which is a misnomer anyway, is shriveled and empty. 

Many years ago, I went camping with another family. I had made lunch, and two of my kids enjoyed it. But one was too busy playing to stop to eat, and I waited for her to come looking. In the meantime, my friend's son did plop down at our picnic table. 

"Can I have some?" 

My protective mother self kicked in, and I suddenly felt miserly. I needed this for my child. I turned him down. He sighed and ran off to his own tent. I waited for twenty minutes for my daughter to be hungry, but she never was. And now I had to pack up the leftovers. 

The memory has floated back to me at times when I resisted generosity. The feeble excuses about protecting my own smacked more of scarcity than joy. I sometimes wished that I could go back in time and offer that little boy a bowl of noodles, but the chance expired. 

Luckily for me, more opportunities have appeared in my path.