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Many ancient philosophers have been stumped by the following question: Is mankind inherently good or evil?

I know I’m not any famous philosopher, but I have an answer and it came to me in a big manila envelope on June 29, 2011, and again two months later. The answer in question being, my wallet.

First, please pardon my irresponsibility and excuse yourself from any judgment you just passed. Great. Let’s begin.

While walking through my hometown one evening in late June, my hand, with a mind of its own, released my cute Vera Bradley wallet onto the ground. Because dropping my wallet was single-handedly — pun intended — my hand’s fault, unbeknownst to my own consciousness, I was unaware that my wallet was missing until much later that night.

The next day, and the day after that, I retraced my every step, but found nothing. I had lost hope and was certain that my identity and money were in the hands of an evil stranger.

But to my surprise and relief, on June 29, I got my wallet back. A man who lives on the street where I dropped my wallet found it while taking a walk himself. He kindly mailed it to my house with a note explaining where he had found it. He didn’t touch or take a thing, and even graciously paid the $2.67 the envelope required for postage.

Without hesitation, I wrote him back. I thanked him profusely for such a kind gesture that came complete without selfish motives or expectation for any recognition in return.

At the time, I felt incredibly lucky to have my wallet back. I believed that it was either just a rare and fortunate occurrence, or perchance, we actually did know each other among the few residents in our small town and he was just being neighborly. I was convinced, though, that if I ever lost my wallet again, I wouldn’t be so lucky. Next time, my wallet would end up in the hands of someone who did not care. I was certain that something so lucky could only happen once.

But on Aug. 20, while I was taking the train home from New York City, I dropped my wallet. Again.

In the constant motion of New York City, I knew my wallet would never be returned. No one has the time to look down before each step they take, let alone take the time to care for a stranger’s lost wallet.

But, four days later, the human race amazed me. In my mailbox, encased in a large manila envelope, was my wallet with all of its contents. This time, though, there was no return address. No one to write to and no name to thank. This person wanted nothing from his or her act of kindness. This good deed was pure, uninfected by the societal drive to be appreciated.

I knew it wasn’t just luck this time, but true goodness in people.

Out of the millions of people living in New York City, one whose identity I’ll never know returned my wallet. But since I can’t thank him or her directly, I say to every good person: thank you.