I am a woman with good intentions. Generally, of course, lest you shit on my front seat or call my friend any form of “whore.” I’m a good person. Ten commandments and all, I guess? I’ve cleaned up shelter kitty piss for hours on end, even if I did OD the tiniest furry ones on antibiotics. Do make note that .1 ml and 1 ml are strikingly similar on a wee syringe. Turns out fixes like this are quickly rectified with a call to the oh-so-helpful kitten poison line. Most of them lived.
Humans are slightly different, have you heard? What with those extraneous emotions to consider, lives impacted and all. What’s amazing is the line you feed yourself when you’re right on the verge of not only hurting, but altering, another’s world. This is good. I am fine. I am taking all steps to ensure that lives are preserved. Oh how noble, Kris. You have such great intentions in mind, you woman of the Brownie sash. You know what is good and you make decisions accordingly, whether or not top sales of Samoas are involved. If only they were.
Easy fixes would be nice. I’m wishing for those small holes you smacked into every dorm room wall. Spackle sufficed, smoothed over gaping wounds, even if beige on a vanilla wall. I did my best, after all, gave it that good college try I’ve heard about. Unfortunately, I’m not 18 with a Home Depot coupon and some archived advice from my now deceased father. By nature alone, I’m supposed to act in a way that takes others into account. Accountable, as is the talk of the day. It applies to government contracts and it means something to people we, or those we by association, care about. Or it should.
I’ve been careless. I’ve been sloppy with another’s feelings, the outcome of which has been devastating. My good intentions have revealed themselves to be entirely self-indulgent. As if they weren’t already. I’m ok. Another isn’t.
I share the devastation in a visceral way. Were I the person I sometimes wish I could be, one able to dissociate myself not only from the moment but also its impact, I’d emerge intact. Stalwart, uncaring. I’m not. I’m good with words, but words aren’t appropriate to convey anything remotely resembling comfort. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You know better and you should make better decisions, she says, this woman in tailored white who sits on my hunched shoulder, the one who got the memo on kindness and civility. I clearly missed it. I was likely making superficial plans to serve the personal good and going with what pleased me in the moment.
I’d liken it to credit card debt, racking up hundreds of American cash money knowing full well you don’t have the resources to pay it down. Sundresses, J. Crew picks of the week, shoes that flatter the feet despite the two untouched boxes of peep toes in the closet. I’m wishing it was only my debt, my weight, my consequence. It isn’t. And I’m left thinking just how completely disappointed my father would be in my choices, my actions, my disregard. Few things could ever hurt as much.
13 Comments
Everyone screws up once in awhile. Make amends if possible, find the lesson, then forgive yourself. You are worth it; if you weren’t you wouldn’t feel bad about it.
I am of the opinion that those gone ahead of us get the privilege of seeing all that we are, in every way, and from every angle. I hope that they see both my reasonings and my failures and somehow they all wash out in the end.
I’m sorry for everyone involved, and most especially you. I have faith that no matter how things transpire, they are moving towards the good. I have even more faith that you have an incredibly happy and joy-full life ahead of you. Can’t wait to see what’s next.
Although I’ve disappeared from life in general, I still keep up with you.
We are, not surprisingly, in like, exactly the same place right now. For starters, I heart you. What I wonder is, how do we learn to not do the same things again? And, is this bottom, or is it still going to get worse?
You are a strong woman. You have enough balls to realize and admit the mistakes you have made. I know it hurts like hell. I think you would have more to be concerned about, frankly, if it didn’t.
My mom told me the other day that when things get bad, I should just know that my Nanny is watching over me. What I wanted to tell her was that, when things get bad, I wish I could stop thinking about how ashamed she would be. Just remember that your dad knew and loved you as a whole person, and we are not measured by our mistakes. Don’t let the mistakes define you. That is not how your father would see it. You are not your failures. You are strong and you are, without question, a good person. I’m not sure this is a coherent comment, but my main thought is that you are a good person. And your father loved you just as you are, not by measure of your mistakes. I think at some point we all have to learn how to be the kind of person we can be proud of. It’s an uphill battle, but you are good people, and you will be okay. Believe.
Most people want to do the right thing, believing they are until they look in the rearview mirror and see the wreckage behind them. It’s important to realise our mistake and make it as right as we can. As when we were 5 and put the fork in the wall socket, we recognise what we did, cry, and not do it again. Well, not more than a couple of times.
You are clearly a good person and not a pioneer in the events in life, others have blazed the trail for you. Just know that along the path are other good people that will give you a glass of wine when you need it.
My father was never disappointed in learning of my mistakes, only of my not learning from them.
Sometimes I think it’s easiest to be sloppy and careless of people whom we most care about. Not because we don’t love them or intend to be hurtful, but because it’s where we are in our life and we need them – our friends and loved ones – to understand that and still love us for it regardless. Letting someone down is never easy; I’ve done, everyone has done it; it’s how you handle it that shows who you really are, K. Having done so is just a symptom of other things going on in your life…it’s not the summation of you. I never knew your Dad, but I do know you, and I can only imagine he would be most impressed and proud of the woman I know. I know that I am! =-)
I did something careless once that impacted a very good family friend. When I called her, trying not to cry since this was her hurt and not mine, she said to me “Liz, I once did something like this, hurt a friend. And she said ‘I know you love me and would never do anything purposely to hurt me’ And so I say this to you.”
That level of forgiveness and understanding has carried me through every subsequent mistake I’ve made. I know you were careless and not purposefully hurtful. To me, those intentions matter.
Sometimes we just get ahead of ourselves, and the result is usually thoughtlessness. You can fix it. Your post was a beautiful apology, so go with it.
Yeah, I think I’ve been suffering from that malady recently, too.
I wasn’t this way previously. What happened to that unselfish girl, the one who cared for everyone around her? I don’t know. I’m still looking for her.
Every scar has a story.
And, Kris, your father would still say “I love you, and you will do better next time, I know it.”
I know what you mean. And it’s hard, but remind yourself of what your dad (I think, from what you’ve written of him) would say to you now. Dust yourself off and start all over again.
It’s great that we have good intentions, but at the end of the day we’re human beings and human beings are leaky vessels. Try as we might not to slip up or fall into the trap of believing our own bullshit, we’ll never be able to completely eradicate thoughts, words, or actions that leave us feeling mortified (or worse). If we could do this, we would be something greater than what we are.
This made my heart hurt. Literally. I had to push on my chestbone.
Your intricately expressed remorse is the most poignant indication of your intentions always have been “best.”