Blogs / Vibes / Spring 2011 / Removing the shadow of self

Jan 31, 201209:59 AMPositive Vibes

A blog that explores authentic human connection

Removing the shadow of self

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We came from a hard place. We were clever, witty and smart. That was our currency. We prided ourselves on our ability to see beyond and beneath the obvious. We were smart, products of the best schools in the country. We traded inside jokes and had little truck with anyone outside our circle. We were free of emotion, absent of attachment.
We were the best the country had to offer. People knew our names and faces from New York to Los Angeles, from Chicago to San Francisco. We were paid well and treated grandly. People loved us. They hated us. We said we didn’t care. We lied. We reveled in the recognition.
We were young. We were full of ourselves. We were good. We knew it, and there was something else. We weren’t very kind.
With time, we all came back to earth. One lost a son. Another fell dead while walking into a hotel. One of our best, our absolute funniest, lost his wife to breast cancer. He was never the same. Some were fired or shelved. We all grew older, and – to an extent – we all came to regret a part of the life we had led.
Maybe we became soft. Maybe we matured but we all came to realize we weren’t as important as we thought we were, and that all those people we ignored were just as real and significant as we believed ourselves to be.
Often it was a small thing that opened a window. Years after I had left the life, I was in the bank helping my sons arrange a college loan. The man at the bank was friendly, engaging– extremely helpful. He had raised three daughters, put them through college. He had worked two jobs to make ends meet. He drove an old Dodge so his girls could have cars. His name was Jim.
When our business was done and the loans were secured, he shook my hand and looked at my sons. “You know, I remember the first time I met your father,” he said, smiling broadly. “He wasn’t very nice.”
Apparently, he had approached me at an event as I was making my way through a crowd and from one part of a venue to another. “I tried to talk to him,” Jim said. “He just looked me and said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have the time.’”
He laughed then and said, “I understood, he was busy, and so many people were trying to talk to him.”
I was embarrassed, humiliated. I apologized first and then said, “I wasn’t that busy. I just thought I was.”
There have been other days like that one at the bank. There is a waitress who works at an establishment I frequent. We have become friends. One morning during breakfast, she said: “I remember the first day I met you and your friends. I’ll tell you something. I didn’t like you at all, any of you.”
I tried to laugh it off. “But we were great tippers,” I said.
“Yes, you were,” she said. “But that had nothing to do with it. It was like you didn’t see me, like I wasn’t even there. I don’t even know why I am telling you this.”
I found myself apologizing again.
I figure there are hundreds of people to whom I owe an apology, but I will never find them all. The damage has been done.
Today, I spend my time trying to make sure no more apologies are necessary. As good as times were, they are better now. There is freedom in kindness even if it is not returned.