Dr. Doner’s Blog

Dying without Forgiveness

 

I like to think of myself as a “nice” person. You know – the kind who sends thank-you notes, gives unknown children a boost up the playground set and compliments the check-out girl in Wal-Mart. In my more self-glorifying moments I like to imagine that I am a little sunbeam of cheer, radiating my way through each day, touching whomever I meet…

And yet when all delusion is put aside, I’m aware of the insanity of my own mind. I make up stories that aren’t true. I look at a person and instantly judge him, based on appearances and mannerisms. (Actually these perceptions are based on whatever is already in my memory banks that is being triggered by that person. Probably none of it is true!)

 

And so I come to the story of George.

 

George was younger than me but looked older and definitely unfit. He was at least 40 pounds overweight and a smoker – instant judgment on my part. The worst feature of George was that he was a terrible leader on the dance floor! You may think that is a minor and forgivable detail, but if you were being man-handled by George the way I was, you would agree with me!

 

One evening during a West-Coast Swing dance class George kept trying to teach me a step that I already knew, the wrong way, while the teacher was teaching it the right way. “Let’s listen to the teacher,” I politely suggested. He kept on pulling me this way and that way. I finally resisted and he rudely jerked on my arm remarking, “I’m the leader. You have to follow me!”

 

Admittedly the dance floor is the last bastion of male supremacy. Since I insist on equality in my daily life, conflicts can happen and I have learned to usually shut-up and tolerate any incompetence on the man’s part. After all, we are still learning. But George was over the top with his arrogance and ignorance!

 

So I learned to avoid him. I came to realize that his insecurity made him bossy and he enjoyed himself the most with completely submissive women. A little compassion could have crept in but every time I saw George on the dance floor I thought, “Jerk!” What’s more I enjoyed thinking, “Jerk.” “Jerk, jerk, jerk,” must have been going on all evening as internal dialogue. Amazing, isn’t it, how this story telling can feel good in a perverse sort of way? It made me right and him wrong. I’ve heard this labeled “negative pleasure.” I had absolutely no motivation to forgive the man.

 

Last week I avoided him again. And then he went home and died. That’s right! A case of indigestion that was really a massive heart attack and he is no more. No more dancing for him and no more opportunity for me to forgive.

 

It was sad. Those who mourned related how kind he had been to them. How much fun he was. How dancing was the central pleasure of his life.  (And how he’d never been a Marine drill sergeant, as I had projected.) Wrong, wrong, wrong! All my stories had been wrong and self-serving! Guess I’m not such a “nice” person after all.

 

The dramatic wake-up call for me was that I could have died just as quickly on I-95 driving home. If I had died then all of my unforgiveness would have gone to the grave with me! And if there is heaven or hell or karma or whatever, the “Jerk” thinking would have been like a permanent stain. Also, since I’m not dead yet, then I have to consider how these thoughts affect my neck tension and disposition.

 

And so, I’m learning to be more suspicious of judgment. “Is it true? How can I be sure? Do I really want to indulge in this negative pleasure?” These questions break up the concrete of rigid habitual thinking. They give room to all possibilities. They are freeing! I can then ask to understand that person and all the causes of their behavior, with the ultimate goal of compassion and forgiveness.

 

My daily practice is to notice each judgment and the accompanying physical tightness or internal frown – whether it is about a poor landscaping job or a pre-teen girl almost running me over in the woods with her four wheeler. And then to remind myself: “Aware of the negative consequences of this thinking on me, I choose to let it go.”

 

And just as I reserve the right to not let a man physically hurt me on the dance floor, I give myself mental safety by protecting my mind from the lies I used to make up. In the end, whenever it may be, I’m determined not to die without forgiveness. That’s far more enlightened than just being a “nice” person.

 

 

Kathy Doner, MD