Rest for the Wicked
Can you wish rest upon your worst enemy?
Last month I spent a week stranded with COVID in a hotel room with only DirecTV to keep me company. Naturally, I watched a ton of ads, lots of drivel. Mattress Firm is doing an interesting campaign these days. Picture the worst person you know, doing the most irritating thing they do: your bitchy seventh-grade teacher humiliating you in front of the class; your co-worker eating salmon and hard-boiled eggs every single day. You’ve had enough.
“How do you sleep at night?” you ask them.
“On a mattress. From Mattress Firm,” they reply, totally nonplussed.
So, at least according to the commercials, even horrible people deserve rest. But really, do you ever wish rest upon those who have hurt you? I often don’t. I still report my childhood bully when I come across them on dating websites. I’m running a bit of a bitter streak these days.
But the people in my life I look up to often do wish rest or comfort upon their afflictors. They hold even their worst enemies close, and not in a duplicitous way. Rather, in a Damn, relationships are complicated, or a Damn, life is hard way. Damn, don’t we all deserve a second chance?
This ties into another philosophical question I often ponder — as a strong proponent of nature over nurture, I wonder how we can hold anyone responsible for their actions. I often say I love meeting the parents of people I hate. Then, at least I can understand that they come by their unpleasantness naturally, and suddenly I feel much more empathy and patience for them. I wonder what unpleasant personality quirks we all carry in our bones.
I’m grateful that seeing patterns like this helps me gain empathy. I recently met someone who a friend had always interpreted as being very controlling, angry, micromanage-y. When I met them, I just thought, Damn, this guy is so anxious. Which is to say, I’m willing to put up with almost anything that’s properly rationalized.
But I think some people I know can skip the rationalization step entirely. Do you think this is really possible? To believe in the inherent goodness of people enough to jump right over excusing and land on forgiveness? And does that type of forgiveness make you brave or blind? If we all are grating to someone’s sensibilities — a proposition we must accept as true — and if some of us are downright rude, even mean, are we all deserving of acceptance? In the abstract, I vote a resounding yes, but in actuality, I’m not always willing to do that work.
I was once having an argument with a friend over communication styles. I often felt hurt by her way of communicating, felt she was misdirecting intense anger onto me, and often wished aloud that she would do some therapy work. This was not exceedingly kind of me, nor did I have much tact at 19, so I’m sure she felt hurt right back.
She told me gardening was her therapy. At the time, I didn’t understand this. Today, I can totally accept that as therapeutic. I can understand how kneeling in garden beds, sitting in haystacks, watching the sky through the top of a treeline and listening to the leaves brush elbows with each other can bring you through a lot. My friend’s favorite thing to do is to walk somewhere deep in the woods in springtime, sit in dappled sunlight on a patch of grass by a tiny brook, listen to it babble and wait and wait, silent and still, for the birds to come sing again. She took me with her once, and I realized it’s no coincidence so many of the best people in life are naturalists. And I realized how lucky I am to love and be loved by accepting people who will show me the world and all the many ways to love it.
I’m in Vermont as I write this, at a political puppet theater (you may guess which one). They have a no-screens policy, so I had to sneak away to compose this dispatch. I’m sitting at daybreak at a burl veneer desk, a window open beside me. The sun is just breaking through the trees and pink wildflowers line the edge of this property’s little babbling brook. The birds are making their morning cacophany. My friend would love it here. I like it, too. I think I must take a walk and leave you here. Hopefully I’ll return a better person.
