Okay, so, sometimes in life, I can be a score-keeper - someone

Hear, O seekers of balance and fairness, the words of Mark Feuerstein, spoken with both humility and wit: “Okay, so, sometimes in life, I can be a score-keeper—someone who keeps track of what he gives and what he gets in return. An annoying quality, to say the least, and I’m sure my wife has your sympathy, but it’s made me highly attuned to when and where credit is due.” In this confession lies a truth that is both common and profound: that in the affairs of life and love, we are often tempted to measure, to calculate, and to weigh, even in matters that should flow freely from the heart.

The score-keeper is one who remembers each gift given, each favor offered, and waits for the balance of return. Such a spirit can indeed be burdensome, for love and friendship thrive not on tallies but on generosity without expectation. Yet Feuerstein reveals that even this flaw has given him a certain sharpness, a heightened awareness of credit, of acknowledgment, of fairness in human dealings. For to see clearly who labors, who sacrifices, and who gives without thanks is itself a rare gift.

The ancients spoke of this tension. In Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, friendship was divided into those based on utility, those based on pleasure, and those based on virtue. The first two are easily marked by score-keeping—what use or joy one receives from another. But the last, the friendship of virtue, knows no ledger, for it is built upon mutual admiration and goodness. Feuerstein’s words touch upon this ancient distinction: when we count and measure too closely, we risk losing the highest form of relationship, yet in being mindful of credit, we also guard against ingratitude and neglect.

History too shows the dangers and virtues of this habit. Consider the fall of Coriolanus in ancient Rome, a warrior who gave much to his people but demanded constant recognition. When gratitude was not paid in equal measure, his bitterness turned him against his own city. The Roman people scorned him as arrogant, yet beneath his flaw was a legitimate truth: he wished his sacrifices not to be forgotten. So too does Feuerstein remind us that while score-keeping is vexing, the desire for proper credit is deeply human, for no soul wishes to labor unseen.

The deeper meaning of the quote is this: though we may strive to give freely, without expectation, the human heart still hungers for acknowledgment. Sympathy is not only in receiving gifts, but in recognizing the effort behind them. A word of gratitude, a gesture of recognition, can ease the burden of the giver far more than repayment ever could. Feuerstein’s honesty lays bare this need—that the balance of life is not always in what we receive, but in being seen and valued for what we give.

The lesson, O listener, is twofold. First, strive to give without keeping score, for only then will your generosity be pure and your relationships be unshaken by resentment. Yet second, cultivate the practice of offering credit and gratitude wherever it is due. Do not let another’s labor pass unnoticed, nor their kindness slip into silence. For small words of recognition can preserve harmony where ledgers would destroy it.

Therefore, walk this path with humility: let go of the heavy burden of constant tallying, but never withhold acknowledgment when others give. Be free in your generosity, and liberal in your thanks. For the highest joy comes not in balancing the scales, but in creating bonds so strong that no scales are needed.

Thus let Feuerstein’s words endure: the score-keeper within us may vex, but it also teaches us to honor those who labor. Let us transform this instinct into wisdom—not to demand repayment, but to ensure that every act of giving is met with remembrance, and every giver is seen with the dignity they deserve. In this, life itself will become richer, and love will be freed from the tyranny of the ledger.