I would guess there’s been 5-10 relationships I’ve had with people where I’ve written them off. And I’m not talking about small relationships either. These are like personal relationships that have lasted for years.
And I wrote these people off because I had hurt them or they had hurt me and then it just went back-and-forth like some fucked up game of spiteful volleyball.
Then usually there came a point where I’d had enough, where I was done with it. It didn’t matter if I would see them every day or not. The relationship was sour as far as I was concerned. Even if they tried to make it better I was like, “Fuck you and your goodwill. That bridge is burnt.”
So there’s somebody in my life now that I’d written off as well. Too many spiked volleyballs and I was tired of getting hit in the face with synthetic leather by some ass who needed to be right at all costs.
Deep down to my toes didn’t care anymore. And I’m sure it was obvious to him. I don’t want to come across as arrogant and say that he was all in the wrong but as far as I’m concerned he was. There’s some dysfunctional humans populating the planet. And plenty of them commit wrong over and over again.
Not long back Sara gave me the seeds of seeing him as a human, faults and all. But I wasn’t there yet. I was holding on to my hurt and frustration because I wasn’t done with it. We were still on opposite sides of the net and I hate sand in my sandals. We can’t force acceptance. It comes on its own. Generally after I’m finished processing and have washed my feet.
So in my interactions with him in the here-and-now I can see that he’s trying to be a better person, get beyond his own shortcomings, his own downfalls and the like. Being who I am, or who I can be, up until this point I was like “good for you” with all the mental sarcasm you can imagine. I’m suspicious by default, been burned^10 by the man holding flowers the day after he smacked you with a switch.
Minor tangent that plays a part in all of this: I’ve been keeping all of my email since 2002. I like history. I like nostalgia. And I’ve had some powerful, healing conversation over that medium.
For whatever reason yesterday I was reading an email Jimi sent me in 2012. It said something along the lines of his missing ingredient had been forgiveness. I’ve written about forgiveness before. It’s no secret that it’s powerful medicine for the sick, salted soul.
I can come across as all holy and spiritual…but make no mistake, I haven’t mastered anything. After learning how intolerant I can be I’m sure the monks would kick me out before nightfall.
Yesterday, early evening the written-off guy left me a voicemail. I listened to it and immediately went into “I’m not taking time to even knowledge this” mode. Silent, bitter disgust in all its glory.
But then this morning what Jimi had wrote via email was still lingering in my thoughts. It struck a chord this time. Unlike it did back in 2012.
So earlier today, without putting too much thought into it because I think way too much, I sent my antagonist a follow up email. I answered his questions and even made a little joke. On the weekend. When I usually like my alone time to be all about me and my pursuits.
And now I feel good, feel spiritual, feel burdenless. Like the feeling when you carry six bags of groceries in from the car and finally set them down on the kitchen floor. What a relief not to be lugging all that around any more.
I feel hopeful, feel positive. I don’t feel like anything is missing. In the cosmic sense of things. I feel like I’m doing my part in the bigger picture. If I’m not doing my part then I ain’t shit.
And I hope he feels good, too, after reading my reply email. If people are making a legitimate effort, consistently, if I can see that they are honestly trying to leave their volleyball days behind then they deserve more than simply being held in contempt. Forever.
I can see him as human, faults and all, just as Sara had reminded me I ought to.
It’s easy to do the right thing when the sailing is smooth and the waters are calm. It’s much harder to live up to my spiritual potential when life’s complicated and messy.
I’ll get to the picture in a minute. The real question is why am I having 2 to 3 bowel movements a day on average? Is it my diet? My posture? My sleep schedule? My collection of fine leather pirate boots?
I’m just kidding. I don’t poop that often. Really, it’s none of your business.
But what I’m not kidding about is the phrase “bowel movement.” The next time I hear someone utter those two words together I’m gonna lose it. And then puke.
Nobody should say that ever. You either poop or you take a shit. And which you do depends on the urgency.
I even had to school my dentist on this fact. Well, I didn’t really but I will if the situation ever comes up.
My mom used to say it to me all the time when I was a kid. Because she’s a nurse. And that’s what they do. But it’s 2018 so stop saying that. Everybody.
That phrase is too many syllables for kids anyways. They just wanna take a dump (that works, too) and get back to playing Berserk on Atari. They don’t ever want to know what’s going on inside their bodies — if it’s the bowels or the intestines or any of that other internal plumbing. They got kid stuff to do.
Now then. As to why I tore apart the top of my stove in a cleaning OCD fit on a Friday night after work… I have no idea. I guess that’s what you do when you’re me.
And then in the middle of my scrub frenzy I gotta poop and I’ll be damned if these two horrible words didn’t pop into my head like Satan from the bowels of Hell. So I want to put an end to all of that.
I’m not knocking my mom or the other healthcare professionals. Those are the kind of things that they say. And if they want to continue to say them, they should do it within the confines of their workspace.