4.05.2006

My Green Mile Moment

I like reaching out to others to help. It feels natural, and I get a certain rush when I see a friend feeling better after talking to me. Yes, my ego gets a little boost, as if I better understand my place on the planet. Call me human.

Of course, on a rare occasion, a downside emerges from my helping voice. My friend walks away with a smile, and I take myself to my car, ease myself onto the seat, and then slump down, sad and depleted. I’ve just had a Green Mile moment, immortalized in the film by roughly the same name, where a healer takes on the ailment of the healed. A smart healer can feel it coming, has that hint of awareness, and carefully adorns a bit of armor. It might involve cutting the conversation a bit short. In some cases, the healer must stop before the conversation ever begins. And that would have been the smart advice I would have given myself today.

Anyone who has passed 'Girlfriend 101' could have told me to STAY AWAY from the-man-in-pain today. But no, I wanted to feel needed, to provide a little bit of healing that would allow me to sneak into this man’s heart so that he’ll always remember me. Oh, please. What I need is a good twelve-step program to get me past wanting to be needed. It’s an addiction as potent as all the others, and it puts its sufferers in emotional harm’s way on a regular basis.

I was so sure I was over this guy that meeting for coffee today didn’t feel remotely risky. He’s never given me an ounce of what I’ve needed. Months ago I finally believed that it was a blessing that he and I never ended up together in any real way, so today truly felt like one friend reaching out to help another. Yeah, right.

A flash of details. He’s hurting over assorted life issues. Sips his coffee as my tea seeps. I look into his eyes, utter a few pearls left and right. Sneak in a few laughs. Blah, blah, blah. Our cups grow empty. He stands renewed. I give him a ride home, and return to my house like I’ve just suffered a hit and run, and promptly descend into a slump. His slump. I’m breathing his slump. Aaahhhhhhhh!!

But my fingers dance now, performing a writer’s exorcism. My life returns. I feel strong again. Stronger than before, a victor from battle. And the mystery of life survives another day.

2 comments:

dweezila said...

YES and you've lived to write about it. I look forward to hearing more of your confessions from the highway. You're not alone babe...I'm sure you'll teach us something.

Bob Parker said...

Love your posts, keep them coming.