Jay Elias | You can take it with you

"I have wasted Time, and now doth
Time waste me"
- Richard II

2002-07-11- 12:20 a.m.

I Know I'm Not Supposed To Say I'm Sorry

I recently finished the most recent novel by one of my favorite current authors, Nick Hornby. The book is called How To Be Good, and it is the story of a woman, a doctor, wife, and mother, who feels that her marriage is on the rocks until her husband undergoes a spiritual conversion and decides he is going to try and change his life to be a genuinely good person, and she finds out what “on the rocks” really means. I liked the book, although not as much as his two previous novels. For one thing, it’s much more complicated in the point it is trying to make, and for that matter, I’m not entirely sure what point that is exactly. And I’m even more confused by the ending; I have several ideas about what happens in the last page, and none of them are at all alike and I’m not sure any of them is a proper ending in any case.
Why I still find myself compelled by the book is the heroine. This woman speaks of a archetype rarely found in fiction but commonplace in real life: a person of fine intentions, who is basically a good person, and yet finds herself doubting both her essential goodness and hurting her loved ones in unconscionable ways. She lives with these things in the way we all do, by imagining some sort of moral balance sheet where our misdeeds are balanced against our mitzvoth and our best laid plans gone awry, and as long as we come out in the black, we’re okay. It is tempting to say that this western worldview is eastern in origin; it seems almost like karma. Of course it isn’t; we’re the disciples of the faith of Adam Smith, and we’re simply doing a cost-benefit analysis of our value as human beings.
But we’re creatures of Judeo-Christian traditions as well, and even the best of us can’t help to look at our misdeeds as sins. We look at our souls and see stains that all our giving blood and voting Democratic and giving our change to panhandlers can’t scrub clean. Sooner or later, we all are tempted to judge ourselves this way. We see ourselves as the sum product of our worst deeds. By what else must we be judged? We see criminals this way; what did it matter that Hitler was a faithful husband or that the Unabomber was a fine academic mathematician with a good credit rating in light of their greater crimes?
Think of the worst thing you ever did. Can you really say to yourself that it is forgivable? Think of whom you did it to. Was that person a friend, a family member, a loved one, someone who trusted you and cared for you and whom, through action or inaction, you wounded? Was the person a stranger, someone whose only misfortune was that they happened to cross paths with you? Perhaps they inhabited the middle ground; an acquaintance who you brushed aside and damaged simply because you didn’t care enough about them not to do so. Now think about this: can any amount of good you ever do make up for the terrible person you were at that moment?
These are all questions that are perhaps best left unasked. We go for the more laissez-faire moral equation for the most basic of reasons: we must, if we ever want to be happy. These questions cast doubt on our own basic deservedness of contentment, much less joy. And there is no amount of self-flagellation, I have found, that can silence that voice inside one’s head that says endlessly, “I want… I want… I want…”
I’m not sure if what is happening to me right now is a good thing. I’m not sure that this is right for me, that it has any hope of working out in a way where I’m happier then than I was before. Experience has told me that this could all end badly, and likely will. And there is a part of me that wonders if I’m doing this out of a desire to punish myself. But I know one thing for certain: I want this. The voice in my head won’t stop telling me so. And there’s a chance that I might get it. A real chance.
I know I don’t deserve it. I know I’ve done things, terrible and unforgivable, and that perhaps I’m unworthy of it, of the happiness that I can feel myself on the cusp of. I know how my happiness can serve merely to compound my crimes, how my joy can only add to another’s pain. I can’t even begin to reconcile myself with that. Worst of all, I can’t dismiss the possibility that these things I’ve done are because there is something intrinsically wrong with me. What if I am a cracked mirror, destined to always ruin whatever is reflected, no matter how perfect it may seem when you look at any one segment and ignore the whole? What if I am destined to repeat yet again these terrible things I’ve done, to hurt someone I love all over again? And how will I live with myself if I do so, if I ignore the warning signs in my past and expose someone else to me?
I think that if it is a balance-sheet world, that I come out alright. Most of the friends I have had are grateful to have known me. I’ve done more good than harm in this world, I think. On scale, I’m not a bad person. Maybe I’m not great, but I’m okay. They would tell me that I do deserve this, that I do deserve to be happy. They think it is only right that I should have someone; in fact, most of them would say that person would be lucky to have me. I hope they are right. I hope that is the way the world works.
Because I want this. And I know that there isn’t anything I can do to undo the damage I have done. There isn’t any atonement I can perform, any forgiveness I can wait for. These things, well, I just have to live with them. And keep on living, and hoping, and wanting. I wish it wasn’t this way. I wish there was something more I could do, some way of attending to the scars I have left in my wake. I want to be good. I want to be happy. And I’m so sorry.

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Doesn't Take Much and That's Messed Up - 2004-03-15
Like Water Under Bridges - 2003-09-08
Jesus On The Dashboard - 2003-08-13
An Administrative Announcement - 2003-08-11
Don't Worry, It's Coming - 2003-08-02

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