As you may or may not know, when I sit down to write some of
these posts, I think back over my week and try and come up with some small
kernel of humor or irony from which I can expound. Today I got to thinking about Monty Hall and
the old Let’s Make a Deal TV show.
This week something happened to me from which I am still
suffering a hangover of consequences.
Although there is more than one of you who know what I am talking about,
the specifics are somewhat personal, include another individual and are not
entirely germane to the point of this little muse.
However, to lay some small foundation, I was ensnared to
help with a problem by someone who by mutual consent, I have no contact with. I was faced with the quandary of my
instinctive desire to help anyone in need, juxtaposed to my concern over a
prolonged unhealthy communication and potential confrontation.
Monty kept asking me if I wanted Door #1, Door #2 or Door #3,
so I weighed my options.
Door #1: I could surrender
to my innate ire at the unexpected incursion into my peaceful existence. I knew there was no chance at reciprocity;
this was not a favor between friends, but an exploitive one-way street paved
with the remnants of a distant troubled history. Inside my anger grew, but I was in no mood
for an altercation. I passed on Door #1.
Door #2: I could
swallow my pride with hope that it might digest my anger. If I could solve the problem, the irritant
factor might retreat back into the desolation of ignored existence and my life
could maintain its status quo.
Door #3: Or I could bow
out politely leaving a defined implication that I was not interested in being
listed as one of her problem solving resources.
This of course could result in a retaliatory response not unknown to
this person.
I chose Door #2 because I thought I had conceived a simple fix
to the request for help. Unfortunately, a
few hours passed and I was called again and informed of the failure of my
solution, that the problem was now augmented by additional difficulties and a
re-plead urgent appeal for my assistance.
The new wrinkles in the dilemma immediately suggested an alternate plan
of action that contained a small, finite number of variable postulates
guaranteeing its success. Confident that
I had solved not only the distant issue but my own interpersonal predicament, I
retired to my bedroom for some late TV and much needed rest.
After a few hours, my phone lit up with a text explaining
the incomprehensible failure of my new plan, the suggestion that I should
accept the transfer of the problem to my own computer, that I should solve the
scenario without the participation of the other person and the announcement of
an impending face-to-face visitation. I,
rightly or wrongly, perceived this as a bridge-building ploy; a tactic not
unknown to the arsenal of my adversary, and one that I have fallen prey to on
more than one occasion. I closed Door
#2.
The next day, I composed a brief text that explained that I
had no additional time to devote to the problem at hand, and that due to the
years of our estrangement I could foresee no benefit in meeting again face to
face. My reply was met with angered
declarations that every transgression ever committed against mankind, including
those she committed, were the result of my personal actions and all the sins of
the world were, of course, my fault.
I allowed those words to piece my skin like the venomous
fangs of a snake and spent two days in the torture of self-doubt and
insecurity. As is my habit, I sought
cathartic relief in my writing, starting and stopping a half dozen formats
whereon I thought I could bleed a little for the mutual benefit of my readers
and my health. Each attempt was met with
insurmountable obstacles of wordless feelings and incompetent
construction. I could not find my safety
valve to release the pressure building inside me.
Fearing yet another failure, I persevered on this piece,
discovering only as I started this final paragraph, that my quest for
resolution lies not within me, but within my antagonist. For if I was as vile and unworthy as her
words suggest then why her persistent need to reconnect. I am far from perfect and perhaps my faults
do merit occasional derision, but I am unashamedly me.
All these
things are who I am,
I am me,
It’s who I
am.
I stand
here now
both humble
and proud,
for I have
sinned
and I have
failed,
I’ve known
Grace
and tasted
victory,
I have
disappointed
and been
let down,
I’ve
learned knowledge
and shown
great ignorance,
I have
loved
and been
loved,
In some
eyes
I shine bright,
in others,
I am but a tarnished relic.
I am but a tarnished relic.
All these
things are who I am,
I am me,
It’s who I
am.
