Finding Equilibrium

I've been struggling with the ideas of maturity versus numbness lately, and also with selfishness versus closure.



In some sense, I find it supremely selfish that we're all so obsessed with the idea of demanding "closure" from the chapters of our lives. Life is not a novel; it does not divide into neat vignettes. The desire for closure is (far more often than not) simply a desire to extract a pound of flesh. We want to watch someone bleed so we can feel better, and once we feel better, moving on is simple, so we think to ourselves that this "closure" is necessary.



Really, it's not necessary. We can move on without hurting anyone else; it just takes more effort. It require more of us to move past our own hurt without inflicting it on anyone else; it requires us to give up revenge and accept our own responsibility in whatever happened.

Here's a free insight: you are never an innocent bystander in your interpersonal relationships. A relationship is by definition a situation of give-and-take, and it always, always takes two to tango. Sometimes you give more, sometimes you take more, sometimes its an even-steven exchange, but all those various gray hues are decisions you make. You decide how much to give in your relationships, and how much to take. You decide how much to put up with, and when you throw screaming fits, that's your decision to.

Own those decisions. They are yours, and if you don't like what you get out of them, you have to own them in order to change your behavior.

On the flip side, sometimes people just do treat you really shittily. I struggle with this. I would like, always, to believe that people are their best selves. I am Dr. Pangloss. And so when I realize that someone is behaving in less than an ideal fashion, I struggle. My kind and gentle (ha!) nature would like to forgive them, show them why what they did hurt me, and believe that from that point, they'll stop doing whatever it is.

Yeah, that pretty much never works out.

So, I find myself struggling with the desire to extract pounds of flesh. Hurting someone makes the lesson stick. It's a common trope: I can't count how many movies I've seen in which the generally benevolent teacher inflicts pain on the hapless student so that the pupil will remember the very important lesson being imparted. I mean, it makes sense: we learn not to stick our hand in the fire because doing so HURTS. If I really want to teach someone a lesson, I should hurt them.

I really hate that idea.

Also, I think it's a copout. You can teach without pain. Pain is the easy way, but certainly not the only way, and really, pain doesn't always work.

Then again, sometimes I think that by not forcefully expressing myself when something wrong happens, I'm allowing that ever-threatening numbness to creep in and over take me. Perhaps it's just that I don't care enough to try. I don't care enough to let people know when I'm hurt. I don't care enough to let people know when I think what they've done is wrong.

Numbness is just as much the enemy of equilibrium as anger. Numbness is just as much a threat to a balanced life. In repudiating anger, am I merely giving in to numbness?

I don't know.

Chickenshit.

I promised, promised, promised myself that I wasn't going to blog about my personal relationships anymore. I really, really did. And I meant it.

It can be seen as more than I little passive aggressive, after all. And in truth, it probably is a little passive aggressive. It's a passive way of expressing my discomfort and anger with the things that go on, a way of expressing my negative feelings while still avoiding all conflict.

I'm conflict-avoidant. Really. I'm not a screamer. I don't pitch fits. I'm really quite meek, a little white mouse. I sit and I nod and I smile and I try to understand what's being put before me, not just what's said but also it's subtext. I try to understand not just the words that are being presented to me, but the context of the lies.

There are always lies. Everyone lies. I lie, although I like to think that I lie less often and less virulently than a lot of people. Maybe that's just me lying to myself; I'll let other people make that call.

But I think I have to break my promise not to write about my personal relationships anymore. I have no other outlet. Some things have to be said, and since I'm a chicken shit, this is how I say them. Perhaps, at some point, I'll get over my pathological need for harmony enough to say them to the offender's faces, and I truly hope I get to that day. But right now, in this moment, I need to say something, and this is the only medium available to me.

Here's the absolute, God's-honest truth: EVERYONE LIES.

And, contrary to what my meek and smiling and understanding face says to you, I am not taken in by your lies. I know you're lying. I'm allowing you to do so.

I know everyone lies, and therefore, I trust no one. I don't trust you. I don't trust you when you say you really like to spend time with me. I don't trust you when you refer to your "ex"-girlfriend. I don't trust you when you tell me that you'd like nothing more than the opportunity to take care of me. I don't trust you when you tell me your marriage is in good shape. I don't trust you when you tell that you're not angry about anything. I don't trust you when you tell me that money's fine.

I know when I'm being lied to. By everyone.

Some of these utterances are the most egregious of falsehoods; others are merely stretches of what is probably a pretty solid grain of truth. They are still ephemeral promises of a solidity that will never materialize. You are not fooling me. I will not cling to your promises like rafts in the vast ocean so that I can drown later on when they disintegrate as I continue to try to clutch the dreams you've given me in cold, cramping, deadened fingernails.

I trust no one. I trust no one's words.

If you want my trust, you earn it. You earn it through action. You earn through unflinching honesty that is ugly and scarred and scary and embarrassing. You earn my trust. It's not an easy task: I'll tell you up front. Many would, I am sure, claim that it's impossible. It's not.

It is possible for me to trust. But you have to quit lying to me if you want that to happen. I am capable of unimaginable feats of forgiveness; I promise you. I have ben forgiven for some pretty awful things in my life, and I know what a gift it is and what a benediction. Because I know, I can forgive. Because I have been shown that it's possible to let go of awful things, I know that I can do it.

I've forgiven people some pretty awful things, too. I don't hold grudges. It would be disingenous to say that the things others have done to me have left me unaffected, because without a doubt my experiences have colored my extreme distrust for the words of others. But holding myself protected and remaining angry are two very, very different things.

I let go of anger a long, long time ago.

So this is what I'd like from the world: stop it. Just quit telling me falsehoods and half-truths and let me have the ugly, unvarnished, unflattering truth. I can handle it. And I'll love you even more for it than I would for the prettiest, most comforting lie.