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It Takes Three To Tangle, And Just Two To Tango (Part 1)

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A while ago I set out to write a series of blogs the purpose of which was to explore some of my past relationships. I wanted to look back on the influence those experiences have had in shaping me into the man that I am today … For better or for worse. It was supposed to be an exercise in introspection to see how much I have grown, changed or otherwise. It was an attempt to write my wrongs. In the process I hoped that someone out there might learn from some of my experiences.

A recurring theme in the few posts that I actually completed was the domineering role that my ego had on my decision making especially when it came to matters of the heart. This wasn’t too much of a surprise because I know I can have a big ego. Unfortunately I did not follow through and actually finish that series of blogs. After only three posts I quickly shifted to writing about less emotionally demanding topics. Why? Well, because I was at a crossroads as to whether or not to write about a particular experience or should I say season in my life. I found myself questioning what good it would do anyone to share that story. I was unwilling to confront my own demons. I wasn’t sure I could even tell that story in its unfiltered entirety. Anything else would not do it justice.

At the time I couldn’t summon the courage to confront myself within the blank pages margins. It was too daunting. So I chickened out. It was hypocritical of me for several reasons. For starters I pride myself on always following through on whatever personal goal set for myself. In that regard I failed. And that more than anything is why I am here again going around in circles working my way into actually finishing that series. Also the whole point of that series was to take stock of where I have come from, where I am, and where I want to go. It was never supposed to be easy. If I was true to the process it was going to be challenging, but only by overcoming those challenges and confronting my past would I be able to gleam anything meaningful from the whole process of writing and sharing those stories.

In the three posts that I wrote on my past relationships with women all the relationships I wrote about where your conventional and stereotypical boyfriend/girlfriend monogamous relationships. The revelations about how big my ego is and how it can often get in the way of any meaningful relationship were not really groundbreaking. I already knew this. I was just sharing and acknowledging it on this space. Writing my wrongs per se.

But this story that I avoided writing about until now was totally different. That season of my life was characterized by most reckless behavior both emotionally and physically. Although I probably played Russian roulette more with my penis than I did with my emotions. The emotional recklessness I displayed at the time had more to do with the feelings of the people I interacted with at the time. Nonchalant aptly describes my attitude then. Hedonistic, my way of life. It was also the most revealing, selfish and honest period of my life up to that point. It is a period in my early twenties that blasted almost two years from when I was 22- 24 years old. It is a period that I hardly ever talk about or reminisce over. In fact I avoid it like the plague.

A big part of the reason I didn’t write about before is that I have never known where exactly to start. I also worried about how it would be received and whether or not it would somehow awaken any sleeping dogs. Granted this all happened a long time ago now and all the parties involved have moved on but hey, you never know with these things. I was also embarrassed of some of my behavior and didn’t know whether I would be true enough to the story. But then I am aware of how much clarity and closure I have been able to get from writing about even more traumatic events in my life and that is what gives me the confidence to go ahead this time. I have been able to hold myself accountable to myself by simply writing my wrongs on the blank page. It might seem like a trivial way of dealing with issues but it works for me. So that is what I am going to do. As for where to start, in an ode to the anarchism that prevailed at the time I will start somewhere in the middle of that story. On the night of my 23rd birthday party.

The night of my 23rd birthday party is blur that is fragmented by random flashes of memory. If it wasn’t for the pictures I have of the day I’m not sure I would have be able to properly reconstruct some of what happened that night. Neither would I have been able to tell you who was there or what mischief they got up to. But there is one scene that I vividly remember without the aid of pictures or even friends. There is no need to reconstruct it because the images are indelibly etched in crystal clear high definition quality in my memory.

I am in my backyard. Everyone else is either in the house or elsewhere. Well, not quite everyone. There is one other person with me in the backyard. I am laying on my back, intoxicated out of my mind, with no idea at all how I even got here. I don’t realise it at the time but I am ruining my friend and housemates $300 white blazer I had borrowed for the night by laying in the grass like that. Anyway, like I said there someone else in the backyard.

I can make out the silhouette of a woman. The southern cross forms a beautiful backdrop above the silhouette that my drunk self appreciates for a second as I become more and more aware of my surroundings. Now I can feel her gluteus maximus gently cushioned on my person. My pants are pulled down to my knees. I feel the cool summer night’s breeze against my legs. I feel myself inside her. I have no idea where her pants are or when they came off. But she is the teetotaler so I am sure she will feel in the blanks for me later. We have been here before. One too many times in fact. Not in this exact spot in the backyard, but definitely in this situation having casual sex with each other in the most random of places. It has often thrilling So whilst I have no recollection how I got here I am relieved because this is a familiar body. I know all it nooks and crannies,it’s contours and all it’s intricacies. I have navigated my way around it’s curves countless times.

We are not dating. We are not even an ‘item’ per se but we are very familiar with each others bodies. We are ‘friends with benefits” or to put it more bluntly we are F**k buddies. We have managed to keep the boundaries clear and the arrangement has been mutually beneficial and fun. We see each other in spurts. No fancy dinners, no roses, no gifts, no bullshit. We satiate each others libidos with zero emotional distractions. Get in, get off, get out. And so far it has worked. Ours has been a clandestine affair grounded in sexual hedonism, a mutually beneficial and satisfying one at that. None of my friends or even hers knows of our little arrangement. Most of her friends would probably be shocked. That is the way we like it and want it.

But as I meet her gaze I am confronted by her tear filled eyes and for the first time I realise that she is sobbing softly. Now this is a first. I am more accustomed to her lustily pinning me down with her eyes, her luscious lips curved into a knowing smile. Not today, now it’s just her bottom lip that’s quivering uncontrollably. This is uncharted territory and the realisation sobers me up quickly. I try desperately to put together the jigsaw in her eyes but my head is throbbing incessantly and I am struggling to make any sense of what is actually going on. As she reads the puzzled look on my face, she mumbles to me between sobs “ I can’t do this anymore Taf … ”

To Be Continued

In the meantime you can have a read of the blogs I mentioned earlier in which I explored my past relationships here and shared some of the lessons I picked up from them

I Have Never Been IN Love

Where I Wanna Be

The Pretender

 

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2014 in Writing My Wrongs

 

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Where I Wanna Be

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As I sit at my desk writing this Donell Jones intones in my ears “ But when you love someone you just don’t treat them bad/Oh, how I feel so sad/Now that I wanna leave/She’s crying her heart to me/How could you let this be?/I just need time to see where I wanna be…”

This is not just my iTunes randomly accessing my memory bank; rather it’s a deliberate effort on my part to get into the headspace I need to be to write this post. You see, there is a story behind this song. It’s a story that goes back almost a decade ago now, when I was 21. Back when I was in university and dating my first serious girlfriend as a twenty something. We both loved the music of Donell Jones. So much so that he provided the soundtrack to some of our most intimate moments. Little did we both know that he would also inadvertently gift me with the soundtrack to our break up. Donell sang my stupid young self into a sticky situation.

“Never did I imagine/That you would play a major part in a decision that’s so hard/Do I leave, do I stay, do I go?/ I think about my life and what matters to me the most/Girl, the love that we share is real but in time your heart will heal/I’m not saying I’m gone but I have to find what life is like without you…”- Donell Jones(Where I Wanna Be)

Truth is we shouldn’t have even been dating in the first place. In the beginning we were amazing friends and with the benefit of hindsight I realise that we should have probably stayed just that. But what did I know? She was a vibrant, witty, smart, vivacious and focused woman. And I was just horny little boy, still several more mistakes away from becoming a man. We shared most of the same lectures and were part of just a handful of African students on campus so naturally we gravitated towards each other until one day I found myself in the middle of that boundary setting “What are we ?… where is thing going?” conversation. Thinking only of quenching my lust and without giving it much further thought we agreed to date. It was the only way I figured I would get the booty.

Despite the idealistic view of myself at the time as a romantic, there was nothing romantic about that union on my part at least. I was probably more enthralled by the idea of such a vivacious and vibrant woman giving me the booty. And she had quite the booty too so I am not even mad at my younger self for that. However I am disappointed in my younger self betraying my own views on what I thought romance was and going even further to try and convince myself that that was what we had. It wasn’t. It is probably the first time I can recall that I allowed my ego to make a call that my heart should have been making. It wasn’t going to be the last either.

This was a relationship that was convenient for me at the time more than anything else. At the time I was also working part time to support myself. So come time for lectures I often tired and struggled to always pay attention. But luckily for me I now had a girlfriend I shared most of my classes so I was covered. I could always count on her to catch me up on anything I had missed and often relied heavily on her own personal notes. For most of my second year of university exams I also relied heavily on the cheats sheets she would prepare. And that is how I made it through that year.

Despite all this I still felt I could do better than her. Why? Simple. Ego. Not to mention that I obviously wasn’t in love with her. Also as is usually the case when you are in a relationship you start frequently getting attention from other girls that you weren’t getting when you were single ( I’ve never understood that). And for me this attention was coming from all the different kind of girls of different races and nationalities and it got to my head. I thought was the man and even though our relationship was seemingly fine I wanted out. So what did I do? Well, I basically plagiarised the lyrics to Donell Jones’ “Where I Wanna Be” in my break up speech to her.

“I said I left my baby girl a message sayin’ I won’t be coming home/ I’d rather be alone/She doesn’t fully understand me/That I’d rather leave than to cheat/If she gives me some time I can be the man she needs/But there’s a lot of lust inside of me/And we’ve been together since our teenage years/I really don’t mean to hurt her, but I need some time to be alone …” – Donell Jones(Where I Wanna Be)

I went even further and gave her some spill that went something like “Even Michael Jordan quit the game when he was on top.” The logic I was trying to sell to her was that it was best we go our separate ways whilst we still had fond memories of each other. My naivety and douchebagery is not lost on me.

She begrudgingly obliged me. I didn’t really give her much of a choice. And as karma would have it our relative fortunes would go on comically. I quickly learned that the grass isn’t always greener and that attention I had been getting fizzled out eventually. And she went to date someone else some time after we broke up.
Nothing could have prepared me for what would follow. For the lows and embarrassment I would put myself through all because my ego was shattered that she had actually moved on. There is one incident in particular that’s comes flooding back as I write this.

So there we were out one night post break up and I am acting the fool with my boys. That was until I until I spotted in corner of my eye grinding up on new dude. I still don’t know why but I flipping lost it. I won’t lie, I surprised even myself. But I didn’t make a scene; I just glared menacingly in their general direction whilst trying to comprehend why it bothered me so much. I was the one who ended it. The one who thought I could do better. So why was I was I upset? By now my boys had picked up on the source of my agitation. I remember one of them drunkenly offered to ‘take care’ of new dude if that would make me feel better. I was tempted for a second, but I just as quickly declined and made a bee line for the mens room. My ego was now in cruise control. There was no way it would let her think I was bothered.

My brilliant plan was to pull myself together in the mens room. Now in mens room my ego proceeded to give the man in the mirror an impromptu pep talk. One moment I was holding a glass of scotch in my hand, talking to myself and in the next I was hurling it at the mirror and shouting in frustration at myself “This is what you wanted … what the hell is wrong with you?” As the mirror came shattering to the floor new dude simultaneously walked in. wanted to crawl into the toilet bowl. That’s how embarrassed I was. So much for her not finding out that I was upset that she had moved on.

When a much older and wiser self looks back on this episode all I see is my allowing my ego to call the shots. From entering the relationship to not wanting her to move on, it was my ego that got me in those situations. That is not love, or even being in love with someone. It was selfish, self centred and petulant. But hey I was 21. Surely as I grew older and matured over the years I would learn how to starve my ego and feed my soul instead. Or would I?

 
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Posted by on March 25, 2014 in Writing My Wrongs

 

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I Have Never Been IN Love

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I have never been in love with anyone other than myself.

I have loved some people I have had relationships with, tolerated others, and some, well let’s just say it was just convenient. But when I really look back and think about it, and I am entirely honest with myself I realise that I was never really in love with any of them. At the time though I definitely believed I was in love. I desperately wanted to believe that I was in love. I guess it was easier than admitting to myself that I was a pragmatist who dated people he just got along with. People who massaged my fragile and over sized ego and made me feel loved. That I was probably in love with the idea of being loved and to show my appreciation I loved them back? This however didn’t fit in with the carefully crafted narrative I had written for myself. One in which I was a romantic, a lover. So I convinced myself I was in love. I might have even tried to convince myself that they were the one. What is probably more closer to the truth is that it was most likely just an infatuation with her booty.

Another factor to consider is that my younger self was so irrationally preoccupied with avoiding that mythical black hole that is the friend zone, so much so that I jeorpadised many a friendship that would have surely enriched my life. Where I could have been amazing friends with some of the people I dated I opted to date, again all because of that narrative I was trying to write. That I was lover, and a romantic. Oh how misguided I was. in my current incarnation I am not sure I have met “the one” yet or that there even is one specific person out there we are pre destined to be with. If it’s a case of soul mates I believe we can actually have more than one soul mate and we might actually never get to spend forever with any of them but that’s a story for another day.

I know how cynical and jaded I probably sound writing all but if you will please indulge me I will try and explain myself. At the end of Lauryn Hill’s song Doo Woop (That Thing) on her The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill album a young girl offers up her musings on what she thinks the difference between being in love and loving someone. This largely informs my own understanding of what that difference is.

There is a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. You can love anybody. But when you are in love with somebody, you looking at it like this: you taking that person for what he or she is no matter what he or she look like or no matter what he or she do. You might stop being in love with them but you are not going to stop loving that person.- musings of a young girl on Lauryn Hills Doo Woop (That Thing)

My understanding and interpretation of that is that being in love is typically based on dependability, respect, compromise and compassion. Loving someone on the other hand is particularly different. You basically want the best for them and you encourage them in what they but you might not necessarily compromise for them or be dependable. It’s a very thin and blurry line between the two.

The biggest lies we tell are the ones we tell ourselves. In fact for us to lie to others in most instances we lie to ourselves first. We tell ourselves that we are protecting them or don’t want to hurt them and we use that as justification. We are lying to ourselves. When I look at most of the relationships I have been a part of throughout my twenties a pattern slows starts to emerge. There are a few recurring themes that characterise all those relationships. Whilst the people I have dated are all unique and different there is one common denominator in all those relationships – yours truly. Whilst the relationships have ended for a myriad of reasons it has been the same qualities and characteristics of my person that have always had the deciding vote in the end. Whether it was a breakdown in trust, a lack of communication, divergent views, values or goals it was how mostly my ego dealt with those challenges. And so it has been that my ego cast the decisive vote on my part.

For me the deciding vote on whether to stay, fight for it or walk away has always been predominantly cast by me ego. I am in no way saying this is the right or mature way to have handled things but that it is what is. I can’t rewrite history; I can only hope to write my wrongs and maybe someone else might learn from my flaws and mistakes. Whenever my relationship became untenable, it was usually because my ego was no longer being massaged. And that was all the incentive I needed to move on. In some situations I have pushed be trusted or loved and vice versa. In the few instances where I was on the receiving end, and my trust was broken as long as my ego was soothed somehow in the aftermath I would stay, because that’s all that really counted, my ego. Not being in love or loving someone. Maybe I have never even been in love with myself and Instead I have been in love with my ego.

Over the course of this I will use this blog as a vehicle for me to start writing my wrongs by discussing and analysing some of the defining relationships I have had in my life and trying to get a better understanding and further insight into my own actions. Hopefully In the process I will begin to find the answers as to why I made the choices I made, why I have never been in love. I will be writing in search of my truth. It will be the start of a journey I am embarking on to starve my ego and feed my soul. And maybe in the process I will not learn from my mistakes but also grown within the margins of the blank page.

 
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Posted by on March 24, 2014 in Writing My Wrongs

 

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Why I am Breaking Up With Kanye’s Ego

If you ask most people who know me to tell you something about me, I’m willing to wager that most people would probably mention something about me being either a Manchester United fan or a Kanye West fan. Both have shaped different stages of my life in one way or the other. With Kanye I am not just a fan of the music but also a fan of his story. A story about turning a near fatal car crash into the catalyst for his biggest triumph – a brilliant career in music. I am drawn to his passion, drive and self belief.  It is a self belief and confidence that (most of the time) balances delicately on the edge of the egoistic. Kanye’s confidence in himself and his abilities is often misconstrued as arrogance, but that’s only if you look on the surface. When I listened intimately to his lyrics I heard a charming and playful braggadocio.

Kanye not only made me believe I could touch the sky, but the story he shared on ‘Last Call’ , on his College Dropout album, is one of the most inspiring stories the dreamer in me repeatedly runs back to when the going gets tough. In the College Dropout Kanye came across as the relatable confident underdog with a stubborn determination to make his dreams a reality no matter how ludicrous they might have appeared to those around him. He believed in himself more than anyone else believed in him. Kanye taught me not only to believe in myself, but to trust myself and also showed me the importance of passion and hard work when it comes to achieving your goals.

The College Dropout is still my personal favourite particularly for its timing and the nostalgia high it takes me on every time I listen to it. The release of the College Dropout also coincided with the start of my twenties and rather ironically the beginning of my university (college) education.  It was the perfect soundtrack for that part of my life. A time in my life I was actively and desperately seeking for something to relate to. It spoke eloquently to what and who I wanted to be. I related more to Kanye’s  story than I had ever with any other artist prior.

When Kanye released College Dropout I was at a crossroads with my relationship with Hip Hop. I was feeling disenchanted and disconnected from most of Hip Hop.  As much as I enjoyed listening to 50 Cent’s Get Rich Or Die Trying album it didn’t move me, well except for when I was In Da Club. Kanye’s  College Dropout album saved my relationship with Hip Hop. It was such a soulful and refreshing sound. It was light hearted. It was uplifting. But more significantly it resonated and moved me and the timing couldn’t have been better. Thanks to the College Dropout I fell in love with Hip Hop all over again.

Further releases of Late Registration, Graduation, 808’s & Heartbreak and My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy continued to provide the soundtracks to my twenties. I was not alone in this as most of my friends at that time also related to Kanye’s music in a similar way. So you can imagine my surprise when one of friends messaged me randomly and said “Dude, I think I need to break up with Kanye.” This particular friend might just be a bigger Kanye fan than I am. At some stage he used to style his outfits based on Kanye’s own personal style. That was how far reaching his influence was. So when he said that to me I won’t lie, I was stunned. And then just as quickly I was intrigued. What followed next was in depth discussion in which we both chronicled the influence Kanye has had over our lives over the last decade. How we both have also grown into our own people and how that influences our relationship with Kanye the man and his music.

My friend’s argument was this (and I’m paraphrasing here)

 ”Kanye’s music is still on point, but dude has really become a douchebag. Dude is always angry, complaining and being a diva. Dude rants most of the time now. The thing now is his douchiness  is starting to overshadow  his talent for me. Dude used to be funny, his early albums had a lot of humour and there was a light heartedness and optimism to his music. Now he comes across as super intense, and, he is always wearing his screw face these days. He doesn’t have the class and grace of his big brother (Jay Z). His music has lost its soul. Worse still I don’t think he has anyone on his team telling him when he is being an asshole.”

He also brought up how Kanye went from singing Jesus Walks on College Dropout to him embracing his inner douchebag in Runaway off the My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy Album as an example of that evolution into a douche. However that was not the tipping point for him. What cemented his decision to ‘break up’ with Kanye is an incident that happened a few weeks ago. Kanye called the New York radio station Hot 97 and ranted about not being on higher up on their hottest Emcee’s in the game in list. He mentioning in that rant that he gave Sway( a presenter) a TV back in the day. He felt you can’t air a dude out like that. He thought it unnecessary and petty.

The more I thought about our discussion the more I found myself reflecting and analyzing not only my relationship with Kanye, but how he has evolved as an artist and a person. This is just my opinion, but I think when his Mum died at the peak of his career something snapped. A part of him died. The albums he has put out since have had darker themes. The light heartedness of his earlier efforts has gone AWOL. His music became more melancholic than melodic.

All through 808’s & Heartbreak and to a lesser extent in My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy he was dealing with that pain of loss, his personal demons as well as the fallout from some of his less than flattering and maybe even misguided public outbursts. His genius was that he managed to channel all that angst and upheaval in his life into his music. The end product was a brilliant work of art. My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is not only a critically acclaimed album but arguably his best album to date. As fans we gained from his loss. The assumption also was that he was dealing, so it was a win/win right? Well I’m not sure about that, the evidence seems to suggest otherwise.

So what does all this have to with me breaking up with Kanye’s ego? Allow me to explain. As I have grown I have made my own mistakes. Mistakes I have had to be accountable for. I have also had to deal with loss and heartbreak. In the process I have begun to despise ego because of the things it has cost me. Ego has cost me relationships and has at times stunted my personal growth by not allowing me to learn the lessons I needed to. The layers I have added to the person that I am make it difficult for me to continue embracing ego.

So that’s why I am breaking up with Kanye’s ego. Kanye’s ego is something I have always embraced and it has always enabled my own ego. I have so many of my own experiences to draw from and that has made me more comfortable in my own skin. I am leaning more on my own experiences to define myself more. When I think about the rants and outbursts I see an ugliness the man I aspire to be finds very uncomfortable with. Kanye is still is one of my personal heroes, but his ego can’t be my imaginary friend anymore. Me and his music, we good. I just hope that now that his current girlfriend is pregnant having a kid will renew and reinvigorate him and perhaps fill the void his Mum left as well as bring back some of the soul and jokes back into his music.

 
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Posted by on May 14, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Three Little Words.

A few weeks ago I shared on this very blog some of the lessons  that I have learned in the year leading up to my 29th birthday. To say I was overwhelmed with how that particular piece resonated with readers is a gross understatement. The conversations that grew out of it were so enriching. After all was said and done it was a humbling experience.

As I slowly navigate my way out of my twenties I have slowly started to appreciate more and more some of the bigger lessons that I have learned over the last decade. In my twenties I discovered that I (mostly) knew nothing at all. It has been a period in my life when I began to unlearn some of the things I thought I had learned. In hindsight, as chaotic and uncomfortable as my twenties have often been, I realise that the changes had to come together; otherwise their individual impact would have been negligible.

It was reflecting on this that I realised that I had left out an important lesson that I had not only learned in the past year, but I continue learning and has been a product of the many relationships I have been privileged to be a part of in my twenties.

I have a big ego which often manifests itself in a need to be right. Managing my ego and letting go of the need to be right has been a struggle. I am the eldest child. I was reared to be right and lead. I was reared to think cogently and debate effectively.  I reveled in intellectual sparring. I recognise now that on some level, I reveled in it, not just because it provided me an opportunity to learn, but a chance to feed my ego. I was never a gracious debater. Though my words were said with class, the aim was to wound my opponent. Defeat them using whatever tool I had to employ. Logos, ethos, pathos, or a witty remark that they would spend half the debate trying to unpack. This was not how I was raised, but it is what I made myself. Plus when you are losing in the other arenas of life, winning a debate (however pointless) can be incredibly self-affirming.

Then it happened. I was the recipient of the intellectual humiliation I had liberally handed out for years. This was both a horrible and great thing.  It sharpened my mind, but cut my heart. I realised what it is to be made to feel small, just because someone wants to arrogantly convey a futile point. Their urge to make a point means they dismiss your feelings, the basic need for you to feel respected, welcome, like you are worth something.

I lost my need to be right because I realised that most of the time I was wrong. I realised that spending my life constantly proving the merit of my nascent, myopic opinions, meant I was constantly losing opportunities to learn something else. Something more dazzling (or it could be something boring) either way, my attachment to the traditions and beliefs I allowed to rule my mind, meant my view of the world wasn’t expanding at the rate it should or could.

As I have slowed learned to manage my ego and subsequently abandoned my need to be right, I have started to grasp the redemptive and humbling power of asking for forgiveness. I have learned the power of those three little words “I am sorry”. Historically, I had been great at apologising. Not so much at actually saying “I am sorry”. My apologies were formal, guarded, and professional. They could be framed with intellectualism and delivered in a tone that suggested a concession had been made on my part.  I had let cold apologies govern my relationships when they were on the brink of collapse and in desperate need of warmth.

When I said, “I apologise” I knew precisely what I was doing. I love words, their power and how they can transport you to a realm you didn’t know existed. I knew if I said “I am sorry” from my essence and with all my truth, it required vulnerability, raw honesty, humility,t he type of strength that looks like weakness to the untrained eye and courage. If they rejected my “I am sorry” it would mean that I would have shown them how much I cared and it didn’t matter (enough) to them. My ego wouldn’t let that happen.

When I apologised, I made the healing process about me. As I have grown I have begun to appreciate the redemptive power of the words “I am sorry” and how when said with earnestness, transparency and penitence, they could bind up wounds that once seemed irreparable – it dawned on me. It isn’t about me or my ego. It’s about them. It’s about their healing.

A week after I posted that piece I said “I am sorry” to someone.

I said sorry because my words to them, though true, were harsh and were not conveyed righteously. In my effort to be honest, I had forgotten to be loving. And this was to a person who I love and care about. Who like all of us is frail and flawed, but deserves to be told the truth in a spirit of love rather than one of bluntness. What’s the point in making a point if it scars rather than heals? The person will never remember the point, but they’ll always remember how it scarred them and how it felt when your words pierced their heart.

So I said I am sorry. Reminded them that their beauty, courage and greatness, far outweighs any misdeeds they could ever do. That I hoped they would always remember those words, rather than my accusations of the evening before.  They accepted my “I am sorry”

It was only after reflecting on this that it dawned on me that my ego had for a long time inhibited my ability to say sorry. And now that I had learned to manage it and let go of my need to be right, I was free. Witnessing them heal sets me free. Not free from the guilt of the deed that sparked the process, but free to say “I am sorry” again, to someone else.

Free to reembark on friendships that I believed were broken or dead. Free to pick up the phone and call family members who though living, feel like ghosts. Free to know that even if stuff does get screwed up, I am bold enough to say I am sorry and ok with being wrong.

So that lesson that I left out …

30. Apologising and actually saying those three little words “I am sorry” is not always the same thing.

 
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Posted by on March 1, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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