Sunday, April 3, 2016

Friends Forever?

'What kind of friend are you?' Disappointment and hurt bit in his text. I felt guilty. My betrayal, my inconsiderateness, sat uneasily. I still stew. I felt ill. Yet my reaction to being called to task is reflexive; I've so many excuses! Where I grew up the consequences for actions were hardly ever worth the price of honesty! One learned to conceal, never (ever) to rat, to reveal. Still, since being utterly perfect was always impossible, I gradually learned to accept others' flaws too.

'What kind of friend are you?' Well, what of him? Actions and interests that he might've shown me ought to've been more-better, more considerate, more.....  But I know it's not really him; it is me. I am guilty. And I've failed others too, in fact, in all of the 'deadly vices'. Even in my seventh decade I’m yet to master all moments to be 'perfect,' conscious of intentionality as I may be.

My greed is too big. Because of it I have excluded others, marginalized others, seen to it that I ‘get’, even when they don't. And yes, there is in me a desire for more. I purchase things beyond my possible rate of consumption. I seek things out that I do not really need. But at the very least, when challenged about my selfish wants, I'll apologize, and offer to share, or to amend.

My arrogance prevents me being humble enough. I grow impatient with slow talk, with idle talk, with chit-chat, with what I deem non-productive or time wasting. As such, I find those who do not offer much energy toward the exploration of life (as an alternative to a recounting of it,) of less immediate value than my own cares. (But I do try to allow for each to simply ‘be as they be’.)

My laziness hurts me, and others. I do not letter-write nearly as much as I should. I do not make the effort to attend social venues, funerals, meetings, or obligations as I might. Nor do I paint all the ideas that come to mind, or write down many thoughts. I all too often do not follow up on idle promises: "See you soon!" But at least, when questioned, I'll own up, and try to make amends.

Intractability occasionally creates insufficient room for me to check on myself. l can on quite rare occasions 'lose it.' Some sort of atavistic rage takes over and I simply don't give a damn about the results of my actions, such that I might swear in public, or kick a can, or even say ugly things. But I'll apologize soon as I realize it. And certainly, I will pay for any damages. Certainly.

My survival instincts do not take into sufficient account the presence of others. I can at times neglect to ask if anyone else would like the last chocolate. I will take more than my share. Yet when caught, I'll do what I can to make amends, to provide for the other, to make it up to them.

My self-satisfaction does not always consider the needs of others. At times I’ve not given the necessary consideration toward my partner, or allowed for the subjectivity of an 'other'. When treating an ‘other’ as 'object,' I’ve taken from them or acted out of my selfishness. Yet, yes, sometimes I have amended. Still, should the record be revealed, there’d be many ‘wronged’.

My deceit is horrid. Most unconscionable of all, I've lied and cheated and stolen as I still grow up, intentionally. (Small things are as guilty as bigger ones.) One forgets a promise! One breaks integrity. One thinks one can get away with it, but conscience, that niggle of the evolving spirit, knows there is no release until one understands not only how to stop, but to forgive the self, and all others too.

'What kind of friend?' Imperfect. Fallible. Learning. Caring. Wanting to make amends. I am forgiving. I am inclusive, accepting, absorbing, assimilating and integrative. I want to improve, to get more-better. I want to help. I want to be interested, to show interest, to act from care. I want to be honest and clear and sincere and authentic. I need to make mistakes, yes, but hopefully ones of oversight, not intentionality. That's what kind of friend I am: Imperfect, always, but trying. You?

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