“…And forgive us our tresspasses as we forgive those who tresspass against us…” Those are familiar words, but, too often, a foreign concept. We live in a culture that remembers and encourages us to stoke anger and feed grudges. After all, if the wife of the politician who cheated with…
…but I see it shining in your eyes, and you know what I mean.
Ever go back and rediscover some of those old songs, cds, cassettes, even vinyls (and maybe some 8-tracks) that used to make you feel so good, back in the day? I’m talking “way back” as in the bubblegum that you sang in the car to 5 years ago as well as “way, way back,” like the records Mom & Dad would play. Wild what music can do. I mean, right now I’m trying to think of a single “Bread” song, but I’m at a loss. Still, I know that if I were to listen to whatever album it was that my parents still have under the turntable in the living room, I’d instantly be a little girl again. Magically, I’d know every word to “Baby I’m-a want you.” (I cheated, I looked on amazon, but really, I do know all the words…)
Likewise, there are those songs that may have been “lost in a previous learning experience” — what happens when you hear one? Does your stomach fill with butterflies? Do you feel nostalgic? Do you change the station, plug your ears, hum a different song?
Prior to dating my husband, I had been in a couple other relationships that were heavily laden with music. As a result, I regretfully grew to hate Billy Joel, respect Eminem, actually listen to Limp Bizkit (still hate ’em), and have a cd wallet full of wonderful lesser-known acoustic artists who may still be touring the college circuit. One of those relationships turned me onto Hooverphonic, Moby, Beth Orton, among others.
So when Beth Orton’s “It’s Not the Spotlight” (from the Stir of Echoes soundtrack) started to play on my random “play every song I’ve ever owned” playlist, I had mixed emotions. I
was again a college student, lonely, painting at 3am. Still, I love the song. But now there’s something new in it: since that friendship has since dissolved, there is another layer to it. I can’t bear to remove it from my playlist let alone my library because it is truly one of my all-time favorite songs (yes, even knocking some Mraz out of the ranks), but it makes me feel … dejected.
Anyhow, there are plenty of other songs that do that amazing timetravel: “Under the boardwalk,” “Brown-eyed Girl,” “Chim Chim Cheree,” “One Headlight,” “Walkin’ on Sunshine,” “We Belong,” and “At the Beginning” are just a handful of mine.
What are yours?
a diet of good intentions
I have been struggling lately — well, for a while now — with so many of my good intentions being overlooked, or worse. Though I know I shouldn’t be doing things in hopes of “thank yous” or reciprocation, it is trying and tiring to carry on a one-side relationship. A couple months ago, I addressed three of these people with the following letter:
I am writing you because you mean a great deal to me, and I would really like to get back in touch with you/keep in touch with you. However, after dropping the proverbial ball in your court multiple times without a return volley, I owe it myself to leave it there. Through trial and error, (and a sort of paranoia), I have come to realize that I look at relationships differently than many people. Where some are content to let past friendships go, happy for what they were, I have an innate desire to hold on to those relationships for the sake of what they were, yes, but for the way I have been forever changed by them. What I mean to say is that each of you have touched my life in such an emphatically good way that I am reluctant to let go (move on, yes, definitely, but let go, no) — and I wish you felt the same. But know that is not the case. We are different in that. One sure sign of that is the fact that none of you will speak with me on the phone…
I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done. (And, in some of your cases, I can’t help but wonder if your other relationships are so weak that jealousy or whatever runs rampant over something so simple as a phone conversation.)
That said, miss you all dearly, but I harbor no ill feelings toward you. I love each of you too much for that. I will take it as a gift if/when you decide to reestablish contact with me. I’ll probably continue to include you in any mass email updates in the future, but I’m done with one-sided “friendships.”
I thought sending that letter would free me from the frustration of trying to keep these relationships alive on my own. Instead, I guess I internalized it as a posed ultimatum. And since none of those people acted on it, I have felt angry.
Anger has no place in a healthy relationship. It is acidic and eats away at the core of it. We all experience temporary frustrations and get angry occasionally, but unless we move beyond and let go of the anger, the relationship will suffer.
Despite knowing this, I haven’t been able to shake my anger towards these “friends” who’ve dropped me. After all, where’s the harm in ill feelings here? They aren’t involved, and the relationship is essentially dissolved…
…
I subscribe to Jan Phillips‘ Museletter, and in her email today she included a link to the video below. “Intentional Chocolate” is chocolate that has been “infused” with good intentions. The gist, in case you can’t watch the video, is that in a double blind study, people who ate chocolates that had been prayed over with good intentions felt an uplift in mood that the other people did not experience. This is amazing.
With that in mind, I have decided to make a conscious effort to let go of the anger. After all, I’m angry because I love these people. But if I do love them, why would I want anything but good for them? So if good intentions are real enough to make chocolates into antidepressants, surely they’re strong enough to strengthen even a one-sided relationship.
Peace (& chocolate) be with you.