May 2, 2005

New Beginnings

I grudgingly walked the sidewalk approaching the architect’s office. It was the finale of my freedom – the first day on a new job, which couldn’t have come at a better time. My mostly unused vacation/sick pay from the last job had kept me going briefly, along with an insurance claim for superficial hurricane damage and a little money saved up. After this year’s tax refund, I couldn’t foresee anything else fortuitously falling into my lap. The timing was perfect. I couldn’t help but feel some sadness over losing my carefree days at home, though – days of sunning on the deck, two hour lunches with the folks, and sleeping in ‘til 10. It was a six month sabbatical from stress and responsibility, but one must survive – and surviving means work.

My foot hit the top step of the office when I heard a rooster crow. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Was that real? Why would a rooster be here in the business district of downtown Mobile? It crowed again, apparently coming from the yard next door. I shook my head in disbelief. It’s just this sort of thing that often makes me feel as though I’m living a movie script rather than real life.

I had expected to be first, but The Boss was already there. He explained that the lawyer’s office next door had chickens, but he didn’t know why. We had a two-hour meeting where he talked in circles about job duties, requiring my intense concentration to decipher the simplest of instructions. This habit of his was the only part of the job that worried me. I looked forward to the day when I would feel comfortable enough to say, “Keep it simple, stupid.” Well … not in those words, of course.

The morning passed fairly quickly. I looked forward to a trip home for lunch – a brief return to my taste of freedom. Instead, I found my car battery dead from leaving the lights on. I deflated. No one was left at the office except me. I fortunately had an uneaten Whataburger Breakfast Taquito that would serve as a lunch meal, but without my noontime escape, everything seemed ruined. I wanted to cry.

While stuck at the office, I called the folks to report on my day. Dad offered to jump off my battery; He was coming downtown that afternoon anyway. After talking with him, I decided to check my home e-mail account. There was a message from Ally and one from my Sis, but nothing from the person I hoped to hear from.

A month after socializing with the SoHB and his girlfriend on Patch’s* birthday, I e-mailed him again. Nothing significant had changed. They were still together, and I hadn’t encountered either of them again. I still smarted from his abandonment of last summer, too. However,
an article on forgiving the unrepentant moved me. I always knew I would eventually forgive the SoHB, for our bond was genuine and our mutual affection had to be bigger than his betrayal. But my desire to forgive was constantly thwarted by his denials and justifications. Looking to the doctrine from my own Christian upbringing, I reasoned that if we must repent to receive God’s forgiveness and be secured into eternal life, then how could I expect myself to forgive the unrepentant SoHB? But while reading that article, an illustration of God’s forgiveness leapt from the page and hit me in my core:

“When (Jesus) showed up after his resurrection behind (the disciples’) closed doors, he did not say to them, "How could you do this to me?" He merely said, "Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you" (John 20:21).”


They had abandoned Him in a much more tragic and hurtful way than the SoHB abandoned me, and yet He pointed no fingers nor demanded any remorse. I realized I had abused the doctrine of my faith. Forgiveness was given through the sacrifice of Christ. It’s done. The pure innocence of his blood must cover everyone’s failings or it would cover no one’s. The trick is that a person cannot reap the benefit of that forgiveness until they repent. I related this revelation to the situation with the SoHB and found that it held true. Even if I forgave him, a barrier would remain until he acknowledged his need for forgiveness. A renewed friendship with him would never reach its fullest potential unless he did. Knowing this … knowing that forgiving him would empower me as a positive force in our lives … gave me the strength to begin moving in that direction.

We shared several conversational e-mails concerning no topic of note. I might not have tried except that on every occasion when I sent a friendly, non-relationship related message, he faithfully and pleasantly replied – quite amazing considering how many former interactions ended with my hostility. I felt encouraged by his attitude in the e-mails, but discouraged by what I perceived as disinterest in sustaining a conversation or generating one himself. I eventually wanted to clarify his approach to our correspondence, asking him to tell me his ideal scenario for us at that point. Would we be friends? Or would he prefer to leave everything in the past, including me? His answer was uninspiring. While saying that it would be good to be friends, he qualified it by saying that he didn’t like having bad blood with anyone. He then asked for my ideal in return. I found his answer to be safe, keeping with his usual custom. I agreed to tell him my ideal, but not until he stopped playing word games and presented a less passive answer. It was no better than what a stranger might say, and told me nothing of what he wanted. He responded defensively and said that he guessed his answer was an indication of how neutral he felt about my question. He wanted things to be civil between us, as they had been for a while, and he would like it if our old group could get together sometime without tension or awkwardness between us. But, there was an important person in his life now, and she and I didn’t mix well. He wanted all the unpleasantness to go away and everyone to be happy. What he wanted from me was for me to find happiness and seize onto it.

I rankled at his patronizing signoff, and experienced the usual hurt and anger that he should feel nothing towards me when we had been so important to each other. It took a day for me to calm down enough to form a civil response. I started by offering my interpretation of his words – that he never thinks about it anymore and doesn’t care what happens, except that things remain pleasant since we have the same circle of friends. That he doesn’t care to restore our comradery or mutual respect based on their merit alone, and that there is no aspect of our former friendship that holds enough value for him to dream of regaining it. I expressed dismay and pity for him if that was truly the limit of his imagination and old investment in our friendship. I then told him that my ideal was to reestablish comradery through regular e-mails and chats, perhaps an occasional phone call. Eventually, I might be able to enjoy his company one-on-one over coffee or lunch. However, I didn’t feel comfortable enough to phone him or invite him to social occasions. I also didn’t wish to be his drinking buddy again, ever. I told him that I had no problem being around him or her at the invitation of our friends. I couldn’t resist getting in a little dig, though, by saying that I thought Patch’s birthday went very well and asking why we didn’t mix well. I knew he wasn’t referring to only me.

Looking over my reply a day later, I knew he wouldn’t respond. The tone was too confrontational, even if it was veiled. I’d been reading books on communication … books like How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie and Mars and Venus on a Date by Dr. John Gray – not to mention all the episodes of Nanny 911 I’ve watched. Basically, I learned that to get anyone to do what you want, you don’t push. No one wants to feel pushed into anything. Make them think it’s their idea, and make them believe they can’t fail. That’s the secret. Reading those books also revealed how much I contributed to my own downfall. I had pushed him away, first by removing myself to avoid being hurt, and then by attacking him on every turn with allegations of coldness and betrayal. Why would he want someone like that back in his life? Not when I’m behaving that way … not when I make myself so untouchable. After several days I wrote again asking if I might know why he never responded – asking if it was a matter of being uninspired or offended. He answered with an apology and the excuse that he had been thinking about my e-mail when work deadlines pressed upon him. (We correspond through his work account.) Introspection took him a long time, he said, but he was open to discussing another casual topic I’d brought up.

That occurred the week before my first day at work. I told him of my job offer, and later that I’d decided to accept it. I never brought up the “ideals” e-mail again, nor did he. Now, my first day on the job, I hoped he would think of me and ask about my day. I chastised myself that I knew better than to expect anything from him. It’s done. Over. Everything between us – friendship, fond feelings, mutual interest – it’s all gone for him. There is nothing for him to work or hope for, and therefore, nothing for me. How could I have been so foolish as to think I might mean anything to him after all this time?

The afternoon stretched out before me. I had expected the stresses of a first day to onset a headache, but everything flowed pretty easily. Still, my sunken mood never lifted. First my dead battery and then the disappointment of knowing there were no well-wishes from the SoHB cast a shadow over everything. I wanted to get home where I could cry freely.

Walking through my front door, Gert met me with all the enthusiasm a little schnauzer can display. She’d become so accustomed to having me constantly home, the day must have been a little traumatic for her. Talk about feelings of abandonment, poor thing! I managed to let her outside before she scratched up my legs and went about the regular homecoming routine, all the while working to convince myself there was no reason for eagerly checking the e-mail. There would be nothing from him, so I’d better not hope for it.

But there it was, the first item in my mailbox,

“So have you started the new job? How's that going?”

I stared in relieved disbelief. He remembered it was my first day. He went on to detail a little about the trials of his day. He had reached out to me, finally, by generating a message. All of my anxiety melted. This might work after all. Maybe we can be friends.



* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.