The desire to be good.

I would like to think that all people ultimately have good intentions. That everyone falters and fails and that in the end, no one actually takes pleasure or pride in being a hurtful person. I’ll go so far as to believe that even when a person is being spiteful and vindictive, they feel justified in doing so because they have probably received the same treatment. People that project unhappiness onto you are doing just that: projecting. If misery is what you feel, misery is all you have to give.

I told a coworker last night that people will continue to disappoint her and break her heart because few people are emotionally as mature and well-rounded as she is. I gave her that advice because I have been giving myself that advice for my whole life. It has been the only way I have been able to cope with heartbreak and disappointment. I am often let down by the cowardice of others. More than I care to recount.

Last night was a rough night due to work stress. But then, strange silver linings: a coworker who doesn’t like to be touched giving me a comforting hug before I left. Checking my phone to see that I had an apology email in my inbox. The strange thing about that email was that one of the guys at the restaurant last night looked like this person at certain angles. I kept turning my head, thinking, “What is he doing in Pittsburgh? At this restaurant?” Not two hours later, an email from this person — the original, not the doppleganger.

I am forever in the business of writing letters to clear my conscience, to try to make amends, to fix what I have broken. You would think that after the amount of letters I’ve written and sent to people I’ve hurt I could permanently stop causing pain, judging by the harsh penance I demand of myself after every time. But it’s like I never learn. I always find a new way to hurt someone that I love.

I’ve never received a response to any of these letters, either. I’ve been reaching out to friends and coworkers for their perspective on apology letters, and how to react to them, if at all. In the past I’ve felt hurt by the silence on the other end. I wondered if that was ego or selfishness, this feeling of injury — as though by not responding, my letter, my honest effort to fix a mistake, meant nothing and did no good for anyone. As a result, I’ve kind of stopped writing out my apologies altogether. In my mind it has turned into a different kind of penance: be kind and forgiving and understanding to everyone who is still in my life. Do this at all times. Try not to falter, and remove your ego from the whole thing. There is this quote by Mother Teresa, one about doing good, and being kind. Essentially it says, People who you are kind to may hurt you. Be kind to them anyway. And that’s the true path, that’s the way to live and I believe it 100%. But it’s a really, really hard path some days. And I really, truly believe it is the best way to live your life.

Anyway, this apology letter came after an unabashed and cruel one written to me nearly a year ago. It was honest and forthright, and owned up to the mistakes and cruelty. I respected it for its bravery. Now I’m at a loss for how to respond. Is it worth salvaging a relationship where respect has been lost? I fight with everyone I love, but I never name-call. I never use abusive language. I feel like that’s really important to me. What do I do about forgiveness in this situation?

I had made my peace with this situation. I wrote a letter, and I burned it, and it became the subject of a performance art piece. I can’t pretend I don’t think of this person, ever, but I had relegated him to memory because it made the most sense to do so. Forgive, don’t forget, but move along. Be at peace about it. At what point do I stop being a kind person and become a doormat? What does it mean to respect myself in the context of past relationships and forgiveness? Jesus says forgive. But does that mean I sweep it all under the rug and start over again, pick up where I left off with somebody? Or do I say, No. You hurt me once. I made my peace. I appreciate your apology and respect your bravery and kindness in giving it. I’m glad you are at peace. But I can’t let you in again.

Then I wonder how I would feel if I ever needed to beg forgiveness from someone whose heart I broke. And that is a very real situation in my life. Obviously I would accept the final decision of the heartbroken. But would I be happy enough for them to put away my guilt, my shame, my desire to have them back in my life? Empathy. It confuses everything when I’m just trying to make a rational decision.

Why do I even need to decide right now? Why don’t I wait until I’ve mulled it over, search my soul, look for the signs I place so much trust and faith into? Ultimately I need to make the decision that a good person would make. I’m just having trouble figuring out what that is.

I’m sure it’ll come to me.

 

On blank pages, and filling them, slowly.

I suppose it’s time to bring up the fact that I was rejected from my first-choice (only choice) graduate school. It happened back in February, and it took me this long to swallow my shame and my ego and write about it here. To add insult to injury, the e-mailed rejection letter was followed up by a paper rejection for state residency nearly two months later. Really, Michigan? That state has become the land of disappointments for me, first with the crowning heartbreak of my life hailing from just outside of Detroit, now followed by a rejection from a school into which I put a solid chunk of time and effort to make a good impression.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m not quite sure what I would do in graduate school. Maybe teaching and making art isn’t my path.

I spent about four weeks wallowing in the rejection, during which time I started working for a burger and whiskey place, and then my new excitement set in: I would learn everything I could about alcohol. I have a brilliant palate, I can taste all kinds of subtle nuances when it comes to tea, wine, food, and so forth. I just know nothing about this new world. Being from a wine background, with the most topical of knowledge of vodkas due to my parents’ preferred drink, I knew next to nothing about beer, its process, varieties, and so forth, and even less than that about the various spirits. So I did what I do any time I want to know everything about something: I took out a million books at the library and went into full-on mental sponge mode.

It’s a funny thing, working in the food and beverage industry. You tell one person in charge that you have a sincere and vested interest in learning, and suddenly you’re networking organically with restaurant owners and managers, cocktail geniuses, distillery owners, beer distributors, representatives, and on and on and on. It’s very exciting and extremely humbling to be around people who are experts in a topic you know very little about — you ask all kinds of questions, and those people, feeling empowered by the questioning, expose you to an entire world of things you should read, listen to, or try. It’s quite fun, actually, not being in charge for once. It’s a wonderful thing to be in a brand-new environment, know what it means to be a good listener (and a good employee, where applicable), and simply have fruitful conversations all day, every day that you come into work.

I’m working at another local place that opened up recently, a craft beer and browns bar with food themed to pair ideally with various beers. Everything on tap is local, which is fantastic, because it creates the very real ability to meet the people who are making the beers that I pour during every shift. And that just gives me another opportunity to learn something new.

 

There are more things, other things, that I want to write about. Things I want to talk about regarding work relationships, new friendships, re-connections with old friends and potential bridge-rebuilding. Things I want to say about how to heal from a misstep with another person, how terribly I am affected when someone so clearly and obviously dislikes me even when I do everything I can to show that I am actively working to fix my mistakes. There are things I want to write about disappointing my parents, about trying to do right by both the people who love me, with caveats, and the people who love me absolutely and unconditionally.  There is always something to write about self-acceptance, self-respect, dare I say self-love (the hardest challenge of my life). But I haven’t written in a long time now, and there’s too much to express in one post, and too much to say that would span hours and days. I’ll write later.