Is it possible to selflessly want someone else to be happy? Or is "compassion" indelibly tied to my own self-obsessed search for peace of mind?

Today was my last day of student teaching. Something really strange happened while I was watching the high school symphony rehearse. This is going to sound lame, but it was like watching my past from someone else's visage. I swear to God, I could have been back in 2002 h-town. There was the skinny, greasy-haired socially awkward bassoonist (Josh Hemen?), the underappreciated, soft-spoken second chair violinst (Gina?), the obviously intelligent, talented and serious female percussionist (Angela?), a miriad of Barbie-doll flautists (take your pick) and even the shaggy-haired, emo-looking male oboist, who could have been either brother Adam or Eric Wheeler. There's a girl in the second violin section who has always reminded me of Ariela, a buzz-cut Chris Hunt cellist... holy FRICK, I could go on. It makes me wonder if the treasured American mentality of "everyone's perfectly unique" is nothing but glittery idealistic bullshit. Aren't we really all just the same? Victims of our circumstances, maybe uniquely screwed up, but deep down we're cut from the same mold, right? Why do we spend so much of our lives trying desperately to stand out, when our biggest strength as a race is what we have in common? Isn't that the point of music, anyway? It wouldn't work if we didn't have common emotions, experiences, souls. But maybe I'm way off.