The moment I knew that I’d crossed the line from girl to woman happened surrounding the most peculiar of circumstances. A while back, I had the opportunity to evoke indirect revenge on an ex-beau of mine. Not explicitly, but I had an opportunity to capitalize my position and rub my success in his face. His life had taken a sharp, dramatic turn for the worse, and I was on the up-and-up towards a new level of progress.
I was aware that I was in a more fortunate place, and I sent a gracious sigh of relief up to God for that. Normally, I would have made a round of phone calls to get confirmation of his status and conjure up a slab of pseudo-sympathy. Swimming in false humility, I would have covered others with my smug satisfaction. Mind you, this is a person I’ve been hurt by. The average young adult would pat my back and assure me that it’s okay to be human and be happy that he was unhappy and in (probable) pain. I would have been well within my rights to, even temporarily, feel content. It’s as if I’d waited years to finally switch places with him, because for the longest, I felt like his lane in life was far more better than mine.
Rather, I made no phone calls. I felt no satisfaction.
Only sadness towards his misfortune.
Because I remember, vividly, what it means to have a promise made and then broken. I remember what it was like to lose yourself in someone, only to end up losing them on the way. I can recall heartache as clearly as any dear memory of mine. That hurt I wouldn’t wish on anyone…not even anyone that has hurt me.
No brownie points here.
I pray for this uncanny ability to forgive. Become a person that extends a[nother] second chance to someone. Even if a relationship/friendship has to end.
I’ll make sure to leave forgiveness behind.