For those whose dissatisfaction with my friendship led to its dissolution, it's okay. Yes, my feelings were deeply dented and my ego, heavily bruised; but I don't have a leg to stand on if I claim never to have dented or bruised the inner arc of love and trust within another person either, so I clearly am not wishing to appear martyred in any respect. Perhaps had it not been the for hard reality of losing my three closest and most long-standing (or perhaps 'long-suffering?') friendships in such short order over the last three years and all in that remarkably similar and unforeseen bloom of sudden defection, I would not be feeling anywhere near this driven to exhume the root causes and examine the larger picture.
One loss would have been devastating enough, certainly, but more easily compartmentalized and held within more reasonable emotional boundaries of grief. However, circumstances being what they were, a scenario was created in that as soon as I had fully processed and adapted to the loss of one, I was squarely ambushed by the next; and as exhaustively as I had believed I had probed and contemplated the underlying foundations on both sides of the relationship in question which might have precipitated that particular crisis, the successive one compelled me to take in yet even more factors and sit on even more pain.
By the time of this most recent sad and surprising dissolution, critical mass had clearly been reached and consolation was much less likely to be found through logic,denial or even animosity. The edges of my courage and confidence were markedly frayed and the temptation to pile on heaps of morose self-pity was becoming dangerously appealing.
Of course, one avenue suggests I consider "What would Jesus Do?" But fact, for fact, that doesn't work because Jesus seemed to have a knack for knowing beforehand just when to duck out of a potentially unpleasant situation and head for the hills and some healthy alone time (which only makes the sacrifice he made for us that much more remarkable). While I, on the other hand, am apparently clueless until the ax handle is firmly in the executioner's meaty grip and leveled a inch or so above my thick skull. And outside of Mary Magdalene and His Mother, I'm not sure how much time Jesus actually spent dishing with the girls, so I've got only His larger message to draw from. Naturally, that works, although a bit more circumspection is required to perfectly adapt it to these pedestrian melodramas.
At this point I have really only two choices: I can surround myself with bitterness and self-righteous anger and forever sport an invisible, whiny violin that provokes a pity-party whenever the names of these people are mentioned or a memory of them, resurrected; or I can stuff some kleenex into my back pocket and climb up out of the well of human drama and view the whole invidious interface from a higher, more objective vantage point.
I choose the latter, although admittedly, it was not my first nor a reactive choice. The ego is a strong machine and it yearns for attention, drama, and to win what it perceives as its due rewards. It clamors for vindication and salivates over revenge, and it thoroughly enjoys playing the victim; a role we have unfortunately featured in this 'me-go-centric' world.
And given our propensity today to overly laud and praise the worldly achievements of our race, as well as our protective/defensive practices of dividing the winners from the losers based on our own subjective, temporal and fickle standards; it becomes a major challenge not to follow the misguided examples of our bipedal ancestry and feel fully justified delivering a knock-out blow once we've been sucker-punched. The old, "Eye for and eye, tooth for a tooth" mentality, you know?
I really had to go deep and try the best I could to divest myself of my excessive emotions and sense of betrayal regarding these losses and to see if I could recognize a greater pattern here that might help to both explain why this sort of platonic de-combustion and resident outsider status have been the norm for me to a greater or lesser degree for my entire life; as well as to aid in redirecting my tendency to hold onto my resentment and to chafe at the idea of complicity on my part.
It was like going from kindergarten to grad school in the space of a month. To go from the knee-jerk, ego-based reaction of "Gimme all my stuff back!" and the histrionic outcry "How could you? I've been such a loyal and generous friend!" to "Thank you and bless you for the gift of yourself and of this valuable lesson." and "Forgive me for not being more sensitive to and aware of what you were truly feeling."
Whoa. If I were an odds maker in Vegas, my money would probably be on the other guy. But the bout ain't over yet.
As is usually the case when deep thought is applied to any single area, there is often a ripple effect. You don't notice it at first, but slowly you become aware that you are no longer defining your thoughts by one, small issue nor are you confined in your awareness of what it all means.
Suddenly, there is the realization that something quite beyond the scope of your stunted and prejudicial nature is enlightening you to great and noble truths. It didn't come from you, but it exists within you; and it is only through the good sense you have to remain quiet and open that you actually notice it is there.
I believe in our vernacular 'it' is referred to as an "AH-HA" moment, or, in more classical terminology, an "EPIPHANY." Either way when it happens it always brings a profound sense of peace even if the miraculous understanding comes bound in anguish. The only significant challenges that result from these epiphanic episodes is to take whatever knowledge or understanding was gained and run with it.
I've had quite a few of these startling epiphanies recently, but not by accident. I am not one of the blessed among us who walk with such a high and sparkling level of Grace that they see more with the eyes of their soul then with the ones lodged on either side of their nose, but I do have my moments and I don't mind at all that I have to work so hard for them.
As my grandmother would say, "Struggle builds character." Although she also convinced me not to alter my crooked tooth in spite of the way it photographs as a black void when I smile giving me that "Ma Kettle"-look because, she said, it gave me 'character'. I suppose she was right if you like that back-woods-no-account-down-and-out appeal. I think she must have meant that it would keep me humble and thereby create character. I should have listened more closely.
But the process of finding and building character is universal. It begins with our fallibility and that leads to mistakes, which bring on pain, that opens up wounds, which demand reckoning, that is either of human design or divine inspiration, which defines who we are, and it either builds character or propagates more mistakes. The choice is always ours.
Right now my choice is to continue this in another blog, attention spans being what they are and all. Hopefully, you get the idea being that I've been involved in a boxing match between growing up, grasping wisdom and getting over it and the local earth favorite, getting angry and getting even. I wish I could state unequivocally that the odds are in my favor, but in spite of my advanced years I still struggle with that impetuous, immature little bully whose taken too many blows to the head but still refuses to go to her corner of the ring, and every once in a while she lashes out with a left jab to sensibility and inner peace.
I'm working on shutting her down. In the meantime, I'll continue training for the next round. Maybe next time I'll see that right hook coming. Then again, maybe I benefit more when I don't.
