the other end of the rope
I have spent too many evenings alone in my room this week. It's making me pensive.
Forgiveness: I heard, in some show or movie or lecture, somebody say that forgiving is one thing, but we must also learn to be forgivable. I was immediately struck. He went on to explain what he meant, which was not the way I had understood him; I chose to keep the phrase with my own meaning attached to it. Which is this: We must learn to let others forgive us.
Not in the sense of "I've done this horrible thing and even though you say you've forgiven me I can't get over it," though doubtless that's important too. It's late and my thoughts are not flowing smoothly, and I'm having difficulty getting to the point (more than usual.) But what I mean when I say I need to learn to be forgivable is that I need to learn to give others the opportunity to forgive me.
Obviously you don't forgive someone who hasn't wronged you, either deliberately or by mistake. And obviously I'm not trying to exhort myself to go around wronging people. Exactly. But why is it so difficult for me to even countenance the idea of doing or saying something that might require forgiveness, or even merely forbearance, from someone else? I pride myself on my flexibility, my ability to withhold judgement while I try to understand, my willingness to give the benefit of the doubt and put the best interpretation on other people's actions. Why is it so hard for me to pay others the compliment of believing that they could be similarly patient with me?
And we're not talking about the people I half-know here, we're talking about my nearest and dearest. It's not that I don't trust them. Or maybe it is. Or maybe it's that I fully believe they're worthy of trust, but I don't see any reason to test them. Like climbing out on those dreadful cables (suspended over a 40-foot cliff) at Camp Highroads. I had every confidence that they could and would hold me. But I wasn't any too keen to try them out.
A few weeks ago it dawned on me that I was going to have to accept that I was lovable. If I refuse to believe that I matter very deeply to some people, it's unfair to everyone around me. I become emotional deadweight, and I inadvertently wound people by not acting as though what I do affects them. This forgivable thing is similarly countertraining: you're supposed to be more careful around people, not less.
And of course I don't want to hurt anybody or cause anybody distress. But much of my reluctance to do things which might require forgiveness comes from pride. Because by being the forgiving one, the understanding one, I am also being the strong one. And that's so much nicer than the other way around.
And all this, my friends, is why the Brian lyrics Leah quoted made me say OUCH.
Forgiveness: I heard, in some show or movie or lecture, somebody say that forgiving is one thing, but we must also learn to be forgivable. I was immediately struck. He went on to explain what he meant, which was not the way I had understood him; I chose to keep the phrase with my own meaning attached to it. Which is this: We must learn to let others forgive us.
Not in the sense of "I've done this horrible thing and even though you say you've forgiven me I can't get over it," though doubtless that's important too. It's late and my thoughts are not flowing smoothly, and I'm having difficulty getting to the point (more than usual.) But what I mean when I say I need to learn to be forgivable is that I need to learn to give others the opportunity to forgive me.
Obviously you don't forgive someone who hasn't wronged you, either deliberately or by mistake. And obviously I'm not trying to exhort myself to go around wronging people. Exactly. But why is it so difficult for me to even countenance the idea of doing or saying something that might require forgiveness, or even merely forbearance, from someone else? I pride myself on my flexibility, my ability to withhold judgement while I try to understand, my willingness to give the benefit of the doubt and put the best interpretation on other people's actions. Why is it so hard for me to pay others the compliment of believing that they could be similarly patient with me?
And we're not talking about the people I half-know here, we're talking about my nearest and dearest. It's not that I don't trust them. Or maybe it is. Or maybe it's that I fully believe they're worthy of trust, but I don't see any reason to test them. Like climbing out on those dreadful cables (suspended over a 40-foot cliff) at Camp Highroads. I had every confidence that they could and would hold me. But I wasn't any too keen to try them out.
A few weeks ago it dawned on me that I was going to have to accept that I was lovable. If I refuse to believe that I matter very deeply to some people, it's unfair to everyone around me. I become emotional deadweight, and I inadvertently wound people by not acting as though what I do affects them. This forgivable thing is similarly countertraining: you're supposed to be more careful around people, not less.
And of course I don't want to hurt anybody or cause anybody distress. But much of my reluctance to do things which might require forgiveness comes from pride. Because by being the forgiving one, the understanding one, I am also being the strong one. And that's so much nicer than the other way around.
And all this, my friends, is why the Brian lyrics Leah quoted made me say OUCH.