“Ladies, I have to apologize for the crude remark that I made the last time that we were together. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so offensive,” said one tennis mom, the other night to me and another friend.
“Huh? What are you talking about? What remark?” we both asked our friend incredulously.
She then relayed “the crude remark” that she had made, that I had vaguely heard her say, back when we had last been together, over three weeks prior. It wasn’t a racist remark. There weren’t any swear words involved, and the remark wasn’t insulting to anyone. At most, what she had said was a little raunchy, and definitely funny. And I actually enjoy those kinds of remarks that make me giggle, and turn a little red.
I grabbed her hands. “I can’t believe that you tortured yourself over that, for three weeks! Why, my friend, why?”
But honestly, I could relate. I probably torture myself after any social event, with several long ruminations and self-floggings about at least one thing that I did, or I said, or I wore, or I spilled, or about the thing that got stuck in my teeth, or when I laughed when I shouldn’t have laughed, or when I made everyone uncomfortable when I cried, or when I rolled my eyes too dramatically about something insignificant. Was I an attention hog? Was I a boring wallflower? I go over and over and over, “the meaning” of a certain backwards look that I perceived someone gave to me, or the awkward hugs given, or if one or all of my stories fell under the TMI category. (Too Much Information) Did I repeat the same story again (the story everyone has already heard) eight times in one night? How bad was my breath?
This apology from my friend, made me reflect a little bit, on myself. Mostly, I was happy that my lovely friend was brave enough to bring it up, and was comfortable and vulnerable enough with us, to do so. I hope that my friend felt better and reassured after she talked to us. I hope that she also felt a little silly. I hope that the next time she says something a little spicy, she either immediately apologizes (?) (For what? Should anyone apologize for being human and fun and interesting?) or better yet, I hope that she lets herself off the hook. Right away. If I am offended by something someone says, it is my job to address it. And if my temperament, humor, energy, beliefs, and interests are not a good match for someone else, that’s not a travesty. It just means that we are not a good match for being friends. No big deal. If anything, if we spend too much time worrying about how we are coming across to others, we become chameleons with empty relationships, because our truest selves are hiding behind a myriad of masks. There is nothing lonelier than being lonely and unseen in a relationship, because you can’t be your true self. Finally, the big ouch is, nobody really cares about what you did or said or wore or ate or relayed, etc. Most of us, go home after any social event, and in a extremely self-absorbed fashion, recount our own every word and action, wondering what did EVERYBODY think about us? Here’s the rub – they didn’t (at least not more than very fleetingly). This is because the others have been thinking about themselves, this whole time, just like you.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Love this post! Reminds me of a cartoon I saw of a man about to go to sleep when the devil appears at his shoulder and says “Not so fast. Let’s go over everything you did wrong today.” Thanks, Kelly.
Gail, I give the Devil my list every night and a revised one in the morning. 😉
Have you read “Mrs. Bridge”, a novel by Evan Connell? I’m about half way through, and it hits a little close to home sometimes. Mrs. Bridge is a homemaker in, I think, the late 1930s or early 1940s. She’s upper middle class and very concerned about appearances. She has a good heart, but her concern with class and race get in the way. She’s always worried about doing or being or dressing/decorating/entertaining, etc. “too much”. She wobbles on the fine line between what’s appropriate for her circle and what could possibly cause comments. My mother was much the same, though a little less intense about things than Mrs. Bridge. Anyway, I’m not saying you’re exactly like Mrs. Bridge, but your description of your worried review of parties or other events you attend made me think of that dear lady.
I have never read that book, Cecille, but it is now on my “must read” list. Thank you, Cecille. Good to hear from you!