Forgiveness

A woman ran with all her might to get to the train, but the door closed just a few feet from her. She waved her arms toward the engineer, and for forty seconds or so, there was hope. The train didn't move. But that seemed more like a taunt, and it ended with almost a mockery when the train slowly, almost unnoticeably, started moving.

I knew how she felt; it had happened to me before. I couldn't understand why if they had 40 seconds to not move, they couldn't just open the door for me to come in. They had their own reasons unrelated to me, most likely, but at that moment, I would feel so angry.

I wouldn't feel I could forgive the engineer or the conductor or whomever at the control of the doors and obviously lacked pity.

That sort of forgiveness disappears within seconds. Then you try to forgive yourself for not having arrived a little earlier, just 40 seconds earlier, left the door 40 seconds earlier, finished that bagel or cereal 40 seconds earlier.

(And now I am trying to forgive myself for having forgotten to charge the battery to this laptop last night.)

This morning I felt the weight of of the wall between me and forgiveness. A mountain whose range starts from one end of the horizon to another end. I remember hiking alone in the desert full of red rocks. And then my path somehow ended at a huge red wall of sandstone. I tried to climb over to continue the path I designated myself. I couldn't. In fact, I fell, causing a huge scrape on my lower left arm. I had to give up. I woke up this morning feeling this helpless in addition to the anger that is the wall dividing me from forgiveness.

I realized I haven't forgiven the last few women who have broken my heart. It's not really about "breaking hearts". It sounds really cheesy. Less cheesy is about shattering dreams (more dramatic, I suppose). With the last three I have gone traveling in places that meant something deep for me, in one way or another. And the trips are themselves really representations of how I was willing to take risks with them and open up to them. I took risks in the hopes that certain dreams would come true, certain fantasies would be realized. What makes it difficult to forgive these women as opposed to the ones before is their irresponsibility to another human being. To me. Before them, and there were others of much less significance (never traveled with them beyond the coffee shop), other women made it clear that they wanted nothing romantic with me, and that they did nothing to foster any hopes. No hint of any kind that something might happen. People can get very confused, and in their confusion they can do stupid things. How do I forgive them, not for their sake since I don't see them anymore, but for my own. Because that weight of that wall bears down with sharp teeth. It's painful. The frustration is immense. I woke up before the alarm. And the only reason I believed I hadn't missed the alarm was the darkness outside. And in that darkness I remember the dreams, the dream of starting my new life with someone joining me, at least for the weekend, at least for a moment, without the conventionality of a permanent promise.

And I found myself unable to forgive myself for fostering this hope. The women I blame for not doing their part to behave clearly, to cut things off when needed. I blame them for wanting to be my friend knowing how painful that was to me, a carrot that was never reachable through that string of friendship that benefited only them. I blame them, and I have that as reason enough to never forgive them. But again, they don't care. They no longer belong in my world.

One of them told me once, when we talked briefly, how she felt bad, how she wanted so many times to write to me. I knew that what stopped her wasn't love for me, but rather, fear and guilt. I don't know how to forgive myself from having done my part in my own torment. Why I didn't just cut things off right away.

The only consolation is that I think I can do it from now on. A woman told me she wasn't interested. There was plenty of reasons to be sentimental; she and I got along very well, laughed everyday, sung songs, made up cute words for each other, experienced amazing dances, and shared some of our thoughts about our demons, our hauntings. But she made it clear, hung out no carrot, didn't even use the word "friend". And I did my part; I thanked her for the good time, and we never corresponded after. No drama, no need to ask why we can't be friends, no need to ask why she can't fulfill my dreams. The question of forgiveness was never an issue with her.

One benefit of looking at the past without dwelling in it is to appreciate the present more. Although I haven't forgiven these last three women, I can see I've gotten a bit wiser, my connections with my friends forged in stronger terms because I let them help me get through each breakup. The growth of wisdom isn't only in understand what to look for next in a woman, but, as all these blog entries have indicated, also in the area of friendship. I genuinely feel great about my friends. Despite being tainted in some ways by these three women who wanted "friendship" as their cowardice way of escaping a real relationship, friendship has found a more important and profound place in my life. Last night a distant friend one time-zone away wrote to me, telling me she'd be coming in a few weekends. I was ecstatic. She was one of the people to write just a long, beautiful email to me when I told her it was over with this latest girl a couple of weeks ago. It's funny that she and I joked once, just before she moved out of New York, that we could now be "real" friends, upgrading from being just "tango friends." Such is the silliness of my hierarchy in ordering my relationships, as my way, my cowardice way, I guess, of protecting myself from people.

And my joy at the news had nothing to do with loneliness, nothing to do with unrealized dreams. Just to see a friend, just to see for a couple of hours. It's funny how she wasn't someone I had known for long. And we don't write to each other much. But it is like getting a chocolate truffle every now and then, how sweet it is when it does come, partly for the unpredictable and rare occasions of getting one.

For this wall between me and forgiveness, friends could help. And family, too. They listen to my rant. They know, of course, I am being silly. Like food poisoning my strange and unconventional, dragged out breakups are a normal experience in a human life, even though I make a huge deal out of each. But my friends never criticized. Often they listened. Often they reminded me how great I was. Sometimes, those closest to me, would shake me and wake up me to remember how wrong that woman was for me. Then I could start realizing how fortunate I was that, dragged out as it was, the breakup actually happened. All this is, of course, normal; it's hard not really because of walking away from someone who made you unhappy, but rather, because you're walking away from your dreams. Everyone I know, including myself, find Valentine's Day, next Monday, stupid, and nothing more than a dupe for the sentimental people's wallets. But I never can help remembering how since high school I never had a Valentine. And somehow I have to forgive myself for all the things I think I have done wrong to have the past twenty years turn out like this. It is my own wall before me. On the other side of the sandstone is forgiveness.