And when you become sufficiently better than everyone around you, it raises a question of distributing this amazing supply of goodness. After all, one only needs so much. And so you get charitable. You scan the scenery for someone in need and you pounce on them with your help.
And then it backfires.
Then you finally realize that the world is an unjust, fucked up place, filled to the brim with people whose lives are so choke-full of misery you can't even fathom what keeps them alive. All around you, people suffering from maladies you haven't even encountered on wikipedia, let alone in your milquetoast life. They don't need your fucking help. They need more then you'd ever dare to give. You can be their patron saint for a day, but then it's back to black, no fucking time to regret.
It takes a particular winning combo of magnanimity and egoism to accept both your desire to help and your inability to actually change anything. To see how your erratic need to do good isn't really doing anything but stroking your own ego, unless you're prepared to really go through with it. To do good not just when it's covered in chocolate and perfume, but also when it smells of piss and vomit, and you need to get your hands dirty up to your elbows. To not do good sometimes, because you just don't have what it takes. There is no shame in accepting defeat, but there is wisdom in choosing your fights.
So as long as your goal isn't dying on the cross for the sins of humankind, as long as you actually plan on having a life of your own, don't stretch your limits. And if it is - well, maybe be a darling and don't wait for a fucking audience.