Singing Mea Culpa
the sins we commit
grab us by the throat and squeeze;
with luck, they let go
Recently, one of my flickr contacts posted an apology (now deleted, I see) to another flickr member for an indiscretion of some sort. I don't know the details, but I don't need to in order to empathize somewhat with his situation.
Like any other community, flickr presents opportunities to meet people — whether "virtually" or (eventually) in person — as well as opportunities for us to be misunderstood, to miscommunicate and/or miscalculate.
I had an experience earlier this year which, if I could, I would do it over again differently. It was a very dynamic relationship I'd developed with another flickr member, one in which we fed off each other's creativity, but one in which I surely made a misstep or two. It has been said that talent is an aphrodisiac. Hers certainly affected me, drawing me in — not so much that she wanted that, but because I was ripe for it, I suppose.
Our communication was basically limited to occasional emails and the photos we created, and while much was communicated, there was also much that was left unsaid and unheard. I misread her, and went a little overboard, which, despite being very honest, sincere and innocent, made her uncomfortable. That's fair. I think she misread my intentions as well, but email, as concise as it allows us to be with words, fails often to clearly convey what's between the lines, or what's truly in our hearts and minds.
I thought I'd backed away enough to salvage the friendship, but it wasn't the case, and I'm sorry for that. It has been her choice to sever ties, and I've not pressed the issue, although there are times I wish I could have had the chance to explain myself better.
I apologized for anything I might have done to upset, bother, annoy or unsettle her, but it wasn't enough. I presume she remains unsettled. I remain bummed about the whole chain of events, but sometimes we can't do anything more than apologize and move on, hoping that the other person's wounds eventually heal, or that time brings a different light with which to see thing differently enough to allow us to get close again.
Or not.
So goes life.
3 comments:
Yes, the apology is deleted now.
I had intended to leave it up, but, its continued existence seemed to be a bit inflammatory to the other party involved.
So, I took the coward's way out and just deleted the whole mess.
I'm sorry you had a similiar situation, Pat.
"...sometimes we can't do anything more than apologize and move on, hoping that the other person's wounds eventually heal, or that time brings a different light with which to see thing differently enough to allow us to get close again."
Or...sometimes we CAN do something more. We can refrain from repeating the same actions again with a new acquaintance next time around. A lot is left out of the story here. My contact with this guy lasted all of a few DAYS, so we were in the extremely brand-new beginning-to-barely-know-each-other phase. Some shared photos, one long flirtatious phone call, and then a stunning slap-in-the-face, total change of character. A photo with a caption reading somewhere along the lines of "maybe this is a good time for a chat. I am not a nice man. Whatever you thought you saw in the photos..." etc. (Parenthetically, I have since come to learn that the "apologizer" had quite recently done some emotional damage to one of my flickr contacts as well, so it was safest for me to take this as evidence of a "pattern," having no evidence to the contrary.)
Yes, I am the "apologizee." What I found "inflammatory" about the apology was that it seemed so sweet and adorable. ("I am sorry" spelled out in sign language, as cute as a basket of puppies.) The adorableness was broadcast to a wide audience (of mostly sympathetic swooning women, who had no idea what the apology was ABOUT), while the original offense was essentially limited to an audience of one: me. Ugly. He drummed up massive amounts of support for his sweet, vulnerable apologizing self without ever revealing the nature of his offense. And that support felt offensive to ME, since it looked like an army of women were forgiving him and I was not. Can you understand that? I'm not sure these women would have "taken his side" if they knew the rest of the story. (Or maybe they would. Maybe they would have spoken in one voice accusing me of over-reaction or worse. Guess we'll never know.)
I understand your intent here. Yes, people should find ways to forgive one another. But people should also behave thoughtfully toward one another IN THE FIRST PLACE and lessen the need for frequent apologies. Maybe the apologizer will really get to work on addressing his impulsive, lashing-out behavior. Or not. In any case, I didn't (and still don't) want to expose myself to more offensive behavior from the "apologizer," and I think my decision to do so is QUITE fair. I have chosen to protect myself. I seek kindness and safe harbor in my connections with other people. I let my guard down way too much and way too fast and I learned a big lesson from THAT. I wasn't taking good care of myself. I will from now on.
This could have all worked itself out between two people. The broadcasting of this apology brought a huge community onto ONE HALF of the story, the unhappy ending. Thus, to ME, the apology paradoxically became part of the harm. This guy didn't know me well enough to be able to predict the extent of the hurt his actions could cause me. It's deep deep deep. You'll have to trust me on that...
My hope is that this man will not repeat a similar situation with another (vulnerable sweet caring) human being. With me, the damage is, unfortunately, done. And the resulting thickened skin is the gift I take away.
Yes, I'm suggesting that forgiveness is a good thing, but I'm also sort of decrying how we mis-read and miscommunicate — misrepresent even — our feelings and thoughts as we use this rather intimate public medium to establish relationships.
Surely, this is common behaviour with or without the internet, so I guess that the crux of the post has more to do with finding that place in which we are very clear about our thoughts and intentions.
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