I got a phone call from a friend who, in all honesty, has gotten under my skin a few too many times the past several months. No matter how many times I tell myself, They mean well, it still stings when someone says something that feels uncharacteristically hurtful. Words are unbelievably powerful things. And this friend in their succinct way told me this eve, "You're always so nice to me and I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate that. I guess I just needed to hear your smiles tonight."
Nice felt like a comical word to choose considering there have been times of late where I bite my tongue to keep from telling this person where they can shove their bias and judgment. But I grimmace and I grumble and force myself to be loving because if you can't love the bastards you call friends how the hell are you ever gonna learn to love your enemies?
I shudder to think.
The truth is, I almost didn't answer the phone tonight. I feel sort of ashamed to admit it but I was sitting on the couch with my book, my hot chocolate, the quiet of solitude and I honestly didn't feel like being disturbed, especially by this particular person. But I had literally just been reading about love and ignoring the efforts of someone reaching out to me for my own selfish endeavors hardly felt the embodiment of love, in its ideal purity. So then to hear that they kind of needed a little dose of the love I do try and genuinely send their way felt very poignant somehow.
We underestimate our value.
We lack comprehension over our profound impact on those around us.
And conversely we lack acceptance of the effect hate possesses as it inevitably invades our sensitivity.
Case in point.
An email I read once then promptly deleted months ago still haunts me.
I really only read it once. It was so seething, so grotesquely ugly that my instinct upon finishing the last word was a quick tap of the key delete because the only way to respond to such a violent attack is to remove it, never to engage. The only other time I can recall having such a swift delete reaction was when someone left me a voicemail message telling me they wanted nothing to do with me ever again, simply because I was and there was nothing to do, nothing to say but delete.
The problem with the swiftness of delete is that it doesn't erase the words that were just burned into your brain. You can remove the evidence, you can speak new words of truth, of love, but our damned memories are like mine fields where unexpected bombs blow up when you least expect it.
I had a dream recently and the words from that email were being spoken to me again.
It's amazing to me my ability to recall with such lucidity the exact words that were used to try and hurt me. You could almost see the wicked smile painted across my senders face as they typed up with thorough verboseness the evidence against me.
And why would it matter what someone I don't even know thought of me?
It didn't. It doesn't. And yet their words.
Words matter.
Lies or truth they matter.
They impact, they alter, they find their way into our minds and wriggle their way into tiny burrows buried deep into the reccesses of the memories we forgot we remembered.
So the parallel?
I chose not to remember the feelings with which my friend stirred in me when he said less than loving things and instead chose to act outside of how I felt, to act in love, to speak kindly even though the bitch in me was screaming to be heard.
And he noticed.
And he was appreciative.
And somehow he was drawn to me and sought me out when he was feeling less than fantastic.
And the bitch who unleashed her venom on me?
I would choose to ignore the feelings that made me want to doubt, to accept defeat, to lose faith, to lose hope. And instead I would believe the best, hope for things unseen, overcome evil with good.
Because it would be so much more satisfying if people remembered me for how good I made them feel rather than for how wretched they truly are.
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