Clearly... A companion to Opacity
Clearly
The sentence came as a surprise. Actually, I didn’t think they were listening
that close. The words were not
difficult, the sentence was not complex, but the effect was. The result was that I had a choice and only a
moment to decide. To hide behind the
usual nostrums and platitudes to deflect or would the more honest version of
the truth come through. This dilemma is
not a place I find myself often. I am a
quick study and usually quite vigilant about my conversation partners and their
talents to penetrate my shielding. Until this.
A conversation is a mix of items, and like any recipe there
are some common ingredients and then a few things that change the bars into
cake or cookies. It is the same for a
conversation. Many common things are to
be expected, and then a few random items that turn it toward or away from any
given depth. Things like the amount of
time expected or the closeness of the relationship. The partners comedic nature for a bit of
levity and their “normal” range of topics.
Familiarity with their story and history is also there, but so is the
history of the progression of that story.
Is it always the same range of topics or has it grown since it first
began? Intensity is an ingredient and as such, like salt, too much will spoil
the thing. Sometimes you can mistake one
ingredient for another. Like baking
soda, powdered sugar and flour all are fluffy white powders but the results get
really crazy when you get the measurements mixed up.
And still here was the moment. The questions were to direct to ignore. The
relationship was to genuine to play off as inappropriate to answer. They were very capable of knowing if I was
being forthcoming or illusive. They
mattered too much to do that. To answer
honestly and with candor would move the story of our relationship to a new and
different place. Would the glass be
clear or clouded? Would I be opaque with
my answer or not? Would I be true to my
own self or not?
The story is not important in the details specific, but in
the impact. I am not much different than
most, in that we are not necessarily forthcoming with much of our stories of
our lives. Most other people don’t have
time or interest and are actually waiting on someone else to show enough
interest to let them tell their story first. Then, free from the burden that
had restricted their movements they trundle off on their way. They may not even realize that to reciprocate
would be a great help to another. There
is a threshold that must be met to make this happen; humility. The odd thing is that this humility is born
of having been at a place above and then required to retract somewhat. Meaning it is to reach backwards and down, in
order to help another that has stumbled.
This is an issue of respect and not station in life. It is from a place of more that you can then
give to one with less.
There is a place of brokenness that the givers of this stuff
live, a humility of the daily grind. The
struggle of addiction allows others with addictions to speak a language that
the ones without the addiction cannot speak or hear. Some can know of the existence of the
struggle but not the depths of it. I can
listen to the anguish, but still “not know the anguish”. I have been spared this walk, but it leaves
me outside. Others will need to take
that walk with the wounded.
Easily I deflect. Deftly,
I slide the subject through the mixer to get back to “not about me”. Quick is the parry and the thrust and the
step to offense. The questioner and not
the answer giver. Perhaps I have misread the strength of the relationship, or
the time allotment you have made. The
willingness to endure until the story is told. Well, perhaps this one part of
it. The fear that some of the
ingredients are too sharp or distinctly noticeable, that you will never see me
as companionable again, is also an ingredient.
So, the choice to remain opaque is always present as an ingredient as
well.
It is an odd thing to discover, that you find one of the
ingredients to have a later lingering on the tongue, like a well-run
conversation that you had hours ago still lingering and wishing for
seconds. The feeling of relief after the
telling, or the fear that now the story is told, and you are not in control of
the fate of it. Both are there, that is
the tension. If you were certain of the
outcome the choice would have been easier.
Told to the one you knew would hold the confidence and not told to the
one that was shallow and thin and unworthy of the trust needed to receive the
gift of the telling. But here is the
dilemma, the new friend and the unclear boundaries. The old friend and the potential for the
recoil. 12 step programs deal with this
by gathering people with the same struggles in a place that is safe, for all
are on the journey to recovery. They can
be clear and not opaque. Here and with these of the same struggle.
In an odd way I have told you of my struggles. That is, to find a place to be clear is a
moment of changing the glass that lets you peer into my walk, to shift from
opaque to transparent. I am very capable
of being “open” about much of my walk.
But even that is only a ruse to protect and to hide the parts that I
reserve for few. Most are as I in this
manner. Some are better and some are not.
When we meet eyes, we both know.
The two were strangers.
We were at a 4-day conference and this was the third day. They had been watching me, which I had not
noticed. There were several hundred
people there and we gravitated to our usual spots for meals, so we had become
acquainted. I knew of their jobs and
their repeated trips to the conference and the people they brought with them. They knew that I was with a friend but little
else. The leader said that he had been
watching me and that I seldom sat with my friend or in the same place twice and
that I was always friendly with the ones around me and that I seemed to be
always helping others. While all of that
was surprising in how complete the observation was, it was also noticeable that
I was not being vulnerable, and they wanted to know what was up. And there it was. Opacity or transparency. The choice to deflect to two people that I
would never see again or to be candid and tell the truth.
They had time and they were genuine in the enquiry and so
the conversation went to a new place. I
told of the mind tricks that the leader of the conference used and that they
didn’t work on me. He was not a bad
leader but was moving the crowd through the steps of dismantling their
resistance, so that was fine. I could
lend aid to the ones that I had met but no one had been interested until these
two, so I was fine. There as a friend to
one that was struggling and that was enough.
They wanted more…. So, I told them of the struggles and the notion that
I didn’t think anyone was ready to listen or to deal with something they could
not fix anyway. That I was essentially
alone with the wound that I walked with and that since that was normal, I would
limp along. I told of the appreciation
that they had enough interest and boldness to ask, and that obviously no one
else had, so that was cool. That they
didn’t run from the table during the telling and they listened to the honesty
of the thing. Now comes the irony of the
tale. One of the guys then said that he
knew exactly what I was talking about, regarding the magnitude of the
thing. That few if any would have the
reserves to listen without fleeing or changing the subject. He had lost his wife of 18 years and was
numb. He had taken up bodybuilding as
way to release the built-up anger, so exhaustion was the answer. He had a son that was graduating and a
girlfriend that he was not in love with but was convenient. He told me that of all of the people here
only my honesty had given him the opening to tell these things and that he now
knew why people had talked to me over these days. He was relieved and felt released from the
struggle that had been a growing load on him and he was grateful. And I was still doing the same thing I
do. Listening. Pointed questions of merit. Empathy and compassion
that was genuine. The giver of the
gift. I was not opaque, so he could be
not opaque with me.
This is the part that is real. That you cannot give that which you do not
have. When you have been given the gift
of a limp, others will see it and ask as to how you learned to walk. Your answer will be freeing or
burdensome. Freeing if you are free and
a list making tyranny if you are a pretender.
You have been given grace, in a certain measure. It is that which you have. It is that which you can give. To some it is the one ingredient that will
bring the recipe to completion. To
others it will bring a taste that is bitter, and they will leave the table. They have not been in the oven long
enough. They are not done yet. That is fine.
It will come.
One last thought, though.
The two enquirers had been work companions and friends for many
years. They had been through many
adventures together, but still the moment that I was vulnerable was the moment
that the one had told the other of the numbness. The leader could see that there was something
amiss, but the other had not been ready to tell the story that wanted
told. The last ingredient was my
willingness to tell. That is what made
the recipe complete. It broke loose the
reservoir that was holding things in place.
Be careful when a friend of many years reveals to a stranger something
that they had not told to you. Do not be
jealous of the telling, be grateful for the release. You had been the companion, but not the last
ingredient. You had suffered through the
long period of the leavening and now was the time for the rolling it out. You had been the carrier to this moment, that
was your job. Like the leader that did
not get the story, he was grateful that I had been there to allow his friend to
begin the part of the healing that had just now started.
It is a difficult thing for some, this thing called
life. Be careful as you walk among the
wounded. You may find that it is you
that is needing a friend that you have not met yet. The missing ingredient that will finish this
part of the recipe.
Comments
Post a Comment