I asked my waiter this morning why the concept of forgiveness is so challenging to embrace. And by “this morning” I mean I was up dipping toast points in vibrant egg yolks well before your balls ever thought of rolling out of bed.
At this age sleep is the enemy. I get up way too early; on the weekends I take advantage of my depression-based insomnia and hit the 24-hour waffle house nearby. I’m a regular. I leave a good tip. I’m also addicted to waffles with fresh strawberries but let’s save that pussy boi willpower tale for another date.
If one has a serious concern I believe it’s to one’s advantage to pose the scenario to one’s pancake house waiter. Be sure and aim for the more seasoned wait staff and not the 20-something slinging sugary fruit smoothies for summer beer money. No, reach out to the most senior wait person — they have seen it all; seek answers to what troubles you at each coffee refill.
Between bites of sloppy egg yolks I asked why forgiveness is so hard to accomplish. I have a situation that is deeply troubling me and I want to reach out and forgive but then just when I think about calling the motherless bastard to apologize for any misunderstanding my Italian/Irish go-fuck-yourself upbringing kicks in and prevents me from being all walk-with-Jesus and shit.
“Forgiveness is hard because it is painful.” That’s the waiter’s take on it. He elaborated while clearing ketchup-y plates: “It’s all about revisiting the hurt — the thing, the incident, that created the rift and letting it go. Folks generally don’t want to let go.”
This makes sense to me; I can’t let go of anything. Witness that white Zegna sport coat from five seasons ago that won’t button. It’s too expensive to pitch into a thrift shop and I’ll be damned if I’m offering it to some snooty consignment shop where I’ll only get 30% of the total value. So it hangs in the hall closet. And yellows in its garment bag waiting for fresh air and/or sudden weight loss on my part.
Maybe if I gave up sunny side up eggs, hash browns and wheat toast I’d get back into shape. But then I wouldn’t have any ‘me time’ to chew on what troubles me. Or to learn about forgiveness. So fuck that.