"Up till now I used to pass my time
Drinking beer so slowly, sometimes wine
No god, air, water, or sunshine
And honesty was my only excuse
I took your love and I used it"
["Honesty is no Excuse", Thin Lizzy]
I live my life with very few regrets. I try to own everything I've done, good and bad. "It was the best decision at that time". It doesn't excuse everything I've done, and it's not license to repeat mistakes either. But I've learned to forgive myself for my failures and I think it important we all do.
I also think it's important we learn from our mistakes, and leverage them to make ourselves better people. So this past year of #MeToo and #ItWasMe has caused me to do a lot of soul-searching in regards to past relationships and my treatment of women, and to really think about the kind of man I am and the kind of man I have been and most importantly the kind of man I want to become.
I also think it's important we learn from our mistakes, and leverage them to make ourselves better people. So this past year of #MeToo and #ItWasMe has caused me to do a lot of soul-searching in regards to past relationships and my treatment of women, and to really think about the kind of man I am and the kind of man I have been and most importantly the kind of man I want to become.
I'm a part of that very large group of men who have long-deluded themselves with the self-assurance that "I'm one of the good guys", who lament "nice guys finish last", and who spent their youth and early twenties asking "why do chicks dig assholes?"
If, in your youth, you befriended girls for long periods while working up the courage to ask them out, only to pull back on that friendship later when you were rejected and it became obvious that the romantic entanglements weren't forth-coming for your long-term investment, the question you need to ask yourself is whether you (like me) were just playing an emotionally-manipulative long-con from the very start. Because that certainly qualifies you as an asshole too. As for why they "dug assholes" instead of you, maybe it's because those other guys were actually more honest about their interests. And you, well, you never actually asked, did you? At least not until you overcame your cowardice and had raised the stakes to a point where they didn't want to take the risk. Did you then leave them heart-broken when you revoked what they believed a genuine friendship? That's just dirty.
I get that now. I didn't get that then. I no longer look at Young Pat with the compassion I once did. Evil doesn't run around toasting "To Evil!" Evil convinces itself that what it's doing is good, and fair, and justified. Young Pat was very good at deluding himself that way. And for that I'm sorry, but for what it's worth I assure you he got all the heartache he deserved.
"Good guy?" is also not a binary equation. It's not either or. There are varying degrees of good-guy-ness, I think, and on that sliding scale, I (still!) like to assure (delude?) myself I'm on the better end. But I know I wasn't always here; it's something I've striven toward as I've gotten older. I know there's still room for improvement, and that's why I spend time in reflection, pondering mistakes I've made and how not to make them again.
I want to be a betterman person.
I'm not going to dive into a list of apologies owed for past transgressions (though there is one in my head, as you might guess), but there is one thing, one odd little thing, that has been bugging at me, and it is the reason I decided to write today.
I've always tried to learn from every relationship I had, even the bad ones. In fact, in the case of the worst ones it's the sort of "silver-lining" and for even the most painful of them I can reluctantly list things I came away with.
But there was one brief one, from a long, long time ago, that I could never point to and say "and that's where I learned this". It was short-lived and doesn't make the list of past relationships I ever talk about. Even most of my closest friends wouldn't be able to name her. Most never met her. She is someone I lost contact with shortly after the day I dumped her.
But of late, she's become a splinter in my mind.
It's not exactly something I did wrong. It's just... something I did... stupid? It was a long time ago, and I'm not sure "regret" is even the right word. It wasn't something I did, but something I didn't do, and it was something I didn't do mostly because it was something I couldn't do.
I was a young man. I didn't have the tools to even begin to understand what I was really dealing with. I don't recall my reaction when she told me what she told me. I assume I had nothing to say.
Ours was a strange relationship. I'd not had one like that before, and I've not had one like it since. It was intensely physical yet emotionally distant. It was frequently impolite or even downright rude (on her part more than mine). We communicated with a whole different vocabulary than to which I was accustomed. We succeeded at having great sex but failed miserably at most attempts at romance. It was truly strange, surreal even.
She was the victim of an incredibly powerful trauma in her childhood, the gravity of which would be obvious to me today, but which I did not properly appreciate back then. I'm not about to detail it. It's not my story to tell. But I will characterize it as "horrific" and I don't think that's overstating it.
And while lacking the tools to help her properly unpack the kind of emotional baggage she was carrying might be excusable, lacking the compassion I could have and should have shown her given what I knew was far less so. Characterizing her as "batshit crazy" afterward when explaining the reason for our breakup was pretty goddamn far from fair too.
I remember the day I dumped her. I remember some of the things I said. I was so full of righteous indignation. Because I was selfish. Because I was an asshole. It was all about me. It was about my needs. But I felt so justified. It was my day. It was my special day. So I was justified, because it was my day.
And maybe on that day, about that one thing, maybe I was. Maybe I was entitled to be upset. Maybe it was perfectly reasonable. But the truth is that looking back I think I never really did right by her, ever. Not on any of the other days in the weeks or months that preceded that one. I never tried to really take the time to contemplate what her needs were or how I might best meet them. I took what I wanted without ever really stopping to ask what she wanted or needed in return. I told myself we had an understanding and that as long as we were both honest with each other - which we were - that whatever happened happened and whatever happened was fair.
But life hadn't been fair to her. And her ability to express, honestly, what it was she probably needed most, that was compromised. What she wanted most, I suspect, was simply compassion. What she needed but couldn't vocalize was to just be treated with some dignity and respect and assured that things would work out.
But I wasn't listening.
Now, decades later, I finally feel like maybe I have, at long last, learned something from that relationship.
I've learned that sometimes the price of being raised with the ideals of toxic masculinity isn't always obvious. Sometimes it's more subtle. Sometimes it means missing out on a chance to simply be nice and listen to someone who so desperately needs it, to help because you're in a position to do so. Sometimes an opportunity to be a decent goddamn human being flies by unnoticed.
Our culture teaches boys to take.
It does not teach them to give.
If, in your youth, you befriended girls for long periods while working up the courage to ask them out, only to pull back on that friendship later when you were rejected and it became obvious that the romantic entanglements weren't forth-coming for your long-term investment, the question you need to ask yourself is whether you (like me) were just playing an emotionally-manipulative long-con from the very start. Because that certainly qualifies you as an asshole too. As for why they "dug assholes" instead of you, maybe it's because those other guys were actually more honest about their interests. And you, well, you never actually asked, did you? At least not until you overcame your cowardice and had raised the stakes to a point where they didn't want to take the risk. Did you then leave them heart-broken when you revoked what they believed a genuine friendship? That's just dirty.
I get that now. I didn't get that then. I no longer look at Young Pat with the compassion I once did. Evil doesn't run around toasting "To Evil!" Evil convinces itself that what it's doing is good, and fair, and justified. Young Pat was very good at deluding himself that way. And for that I'm sorry, but for what it's worth I assure you he got all the heartache he deserved.
I want to be a better
I'm not going to dive into a list of apologies owed for past transgressions (though there is one in my head, as you might guess), but there is one thing, one odd little thing, that has been bugging at me, and it is the reason I decided to write today.
I've always tried to learn from every relationship I had, even the bad ones. In fact, in the case of the worst ones it's the sort of "silver-lining" and for even the most painful of them I can reluctantly list things I came away with.
But there was one brief one, from a long, long time ago, that I could never point to and say "and that's where I learned this". It was short-lived and doesn't make the list of past relationships I ever talk about. Even most of my closest friends wouldn't be able to name her. Most never met her. She is someone I lost contact with shortly after the day I dumped her.
But of late, she's become a splinter in my mind.
It's not exactly something I did wrong. It's just... something I did... stupid? It was a long time ago, and I'm not sure "regret" is even the right word. It wasn't something I did, but something I didn't do, and it was something I didn't do mostly because it was something I couldn't do.
I was a young man. I didn't have the tools to even begin to understand what I was really dealing with. I don't recall my reaction when she told me what she told me. I assume I had nothing to say.
Ours was a strange relationship. I'd not had one like that before, and I've not had one like it since. It was intensely physical yet emotionally distant. It was frequently impolite or even downright rude (on her part more than mine). We communicated with a whole different vocabulary than to which I was accustomed. We succeeded at having great sex but failed miserably at most attempts at romance. It was truly strange, surreal even.
She was the victim of an incredibly powerful trauma in her childhood, the gravity of which would be obvious to me today, but which I did not properly appreciate back then. I'm not about to detail it. It's not my story to tell. But I will characterize it as "horrific" and I don't think that's overstating it.
And while lacking the tools to help her properly unpack the kind of emotional baggage she was carrying might be excusable, lacking the compassion I could have and should have shown her given what I knew was far less so. Characterizing her as "batshit crazy" afterward when explaining the reason for our breakup was pretty goddamn far from fair too.
I remember the day I dumped her. I remember some of the things I said. I was so full of righteous indignation. Because I was selfish. Because I was an asshole. It was all about me. It was about my needs. But I felt so justified. It was my day. It was my special day. So I was justified, because it was my day.
And maybe on that day, about that one thing, maybe I was. Maybe I was entitled to be upset. Maybe it was perfectly reasonable. But the truth is that looking back I think I never really did right by her, ever. Not on any of the other days in the weeks or months that preceded that one. I never tried to really take the time to contemplate what her needs were or how I might best meet them. I took what I wanted without ever really stopping to ask what she wanted or needed in return. I told myself we had an understanding and that as long as we were both honest with each other - which we were - that whatever happened happened and whatever happened was fair.
But life hadn't been fair to her. And her ability to express, honestly, what it was she probably needed most, that was compromised. What she wanted most, I suspect, was simply compassion. What she needed but couldn't vocalize was to just be treated with some dignity and respect and assured that things would work out.
But I wasn't listening.
Now, decades later, I finally feel like maybe I have, at long last, learned something from that relationship.
I've learned that sometimes the price of being raised with the ideals of toxic masculinity isn't always obvious. Sometimes it's more subtle. Sometimes it means missing out on a chance to simply be nice and listen to someone who so desperately needs it, to help because you're in a position to do so. Sometimes an opportunity to be a decent goddamn human being flies by unnoticed.
Our culture teaches boys to take.
It does not teach them to give.
