June 4, 2012

  • pride and joy

    I spent a lot of tonight trying to answer a question I've asked myself a few times. 

    I'm not a perfect guy by any stretch of the imagination, but I like to think I'm pretty good at letting things go. People say tough things sometimes - they have bad days or get frustrated for a few seconds and make a mistake. Heck, sometimes people make incredibly hurtful decisions that last for days, weeks, or even months, and I try to teach myself that it's not worth judging someone's character based on a small sample size of the way they act. It's a lot easier to tell who someone is by how they treat you when you need them, and some people just naturally need unconditional support. One of my best friends has lied to me more times than I can count, but this person is also a rock of compassion and understanding in my life. They have earned the benefit of the doubt. 

    Why, then, do I have no interest in giving this benefit to these two people, and really just one, who left my life a few months ago?

    Allow me set the scene. It was a few years ago when these two people came to church and I bonded with both of them. One was more superficial; a friendship based on similar sports teams and occasional male stupidity. The other was more real; I found a friend who thought like I did and would listen unconditionally to my frustrations and struggles. It was a simple commonality centered on a mutual understanding that we were similar enough to trust each other, and they became like family. Their two young children were like siblings; I cannot possibly use words to describe how much I adore their beautiful daughter, who I held four days after she came into the world. 

    There was one night in particular where I was over at their house until after midnight, just laughing and having an occasional drink as we killed hours on a meaningless Friday evening. The kids eventually went to bed and I got up to leave, because I'm not one to deprive a young couple of alone time without interference after a long week. I was told to sit down and stay awhile, because I was family. One of them went to bed soon after, and I spent several more hours just telling stories with the other, really learning who they were and sharing some memories from high school and personal insecurities that most people have never heard. It was special in its simplicity, because I'm not a guy who lets people in very easily. When I decide to trust someone, it comes after serious consideration. 

    Here's the core of my problem: I don't have any patience for people who run away from life. We are naturally social creatures, and because of this, we form a network of support. Some friends are superficial, and other relationships are more cerebral. We have those deep, strong bonds because we need them; we aren't capable of doing everything on our own. Trust me, I try. When you build a network like this, with friends, family, godparents, and responsibility, and then you abandon it all without having the character to acknowledge the ramifications of your decision and how it affects this very web that you've spun around you, I find myself simply unable to care anymore. 

    Last point: I have lived in this state and region for over twenty-one years. Do I identify with the midwest and consider it home? Yes, I do. But this place has made me who I am: independent, strong, intelligent, and damn proud of my individuality. It isn't perfect, and it's definitely not for everyone. But if you want to pull the pseudo-maturity card while bashing my church and the people who took you in as family while painting a smile on your face, be my guest. Just don't expect me to waste another second pretending you all were anything more than a phase.