I can’t control a lot of things, or even many things. I know that, and I’ve known it for a long time. For the most part there’s comfort in that. It absolves me of the need to influence things I have no say in. I can let go, relax, let fate take its course. H has no play in this game.
At other times, however, I find myself trying to interfere nonetheless in defiance of logic and rational thought, striving to do and be, to exert myself on something for which I’m unwilling to relinquish responsibility. It’s an impulse both of control and existential desperation. H must act.
It’s that to and fro that has patterned much of life, and I’m sure much of human existence. I don’t know that it’s a bad thing even if so often it is futile and exasperating. It doesn’t always feel right to sit and observe. It’s the doing that accounts, or at least the pretence of it: I tried.
I find myself facing this conundrum once again. As I described earlier, I’m sad that some of my decisions might inadvertently have caused heartache to someone else. I can’t go back and change things though. What I can do is try and make it good now. The problem is I can get no traction. I can’t make people listen to me. I can’t make people like me again. I can only try.
I find myself fluctuating between two poles. Between acceptance: yes, it’s sad, but it’s history now and the moment has passed and there is no more I can do. Then there is the other pole, more fundamental to me I think: it’s too sad to leave it at that, perhaps even too tragic. And I like her, don’t I? And even if I’m not sure of it I think in the heat of her she likes me too. And so…?
What it all adds up to is tenderness. No matter which way I look at it I’m sorry for what I put her through. I wish I could reach out and tell her how sorry I am. It flows in me, a warm, delicate, lovely thing. I feel a better man and want to share it with her. I want to look in her eyes and tell her how much I like and admire her. I want that connection to her, to look in her eyes and find affection as well as understanding. It feels a near thing sometimes. The problem is I can never get that close to her, as if she knows it.
I’m sure a little honesty and candid conversation would go a long away. I can’t get to that point though. We stumble before it. It’s like a wall I can’t get by and it leaves me frustrated. I’m not that man I want her to know. I’m kind and decent. I have integrity. I want her to know that I’m not a man who would ever want to hurt her; I want her to know that rather I’m the man who wants to make her happy.
All I can do is live in this. For now it’s not about what I can and can’t do. All I can be is true to what I feel and what I want, and hope that it shines through. I won’t back away again. I’ll be this person tender and full of grace and hope she sees it, hope she feels and one day chooses to respond to it. I can only be me, but I want it to be this me, glowing with unrequited possibility.