A friend sent me this advice today. I hadn’t heard it before. It means “think before you say or write, as what you say or do may offend.” (Of course there are times when you deliberately say or do something intending offense. Or wish to. I have had imaginary conversations with Trump, Boebert, Greene, McConnell, which aren’t conversations at all, but unkind thoughts I would love to share with them. I would try to offend them as much as I could. That’s a horse of the proverbial different color.)
I’ve expressed thoughts with no intention of offending, but did. A case in point. Years ago I was having dinner with my son’s in-laws. I had recently learned that my daughter-in-law’s father had been released from his position as provost at a California university. I had also learned that one of Jadyne’s high school friends was the president of that same university, and ergo, must have been the one who released said person. For reasons that defy my imagination, I released the connection at dinner. Mea culpa. The mind works in not-so-mysterious ways sometimes. Perhaps this was one of them.
Again. When I first joined Facebook I enjoyed reconnecting and hearing from a number of former students who appreciated and commented on my posts. As Jason neared his fortieth birthday I posted images from his childhood with made-up stories beneath the photos. In one image taken forty-two years ago I posted a photo of him with his sister. Jennifer looks insanely happy in the image. Jason is enjoying her good humor. I wrote some words about the absurd notion that he had just given her a joint, and that his two year old sister was stoned. It was inappropriate at best, a cheap attempt at humor.
In those two cases I regretted words I’d said. I’ve regretted actions, too. Several years ago I tried to reconnect with several old friends. Strange. All of them were women. A former student of mine said once, “I chose you for an essay I had to write about my favorite teacher.” I was touched. She then added, “I got a D on it.” A high school girlfriend found me on Facebook, and we played Words With Friends, exchanged emails, and after a few months she expressed regret that she had let her emotions in reconnecting with me overcome her. We’re no longer in touch. Two more, both named Gail—the first, a high school classmate who has become a friend to both Jadyne and me, and the second Gail, the girl whose sage advice prompted this essay. I’m grateful that she’s there, too.
What I failed to recognize was this—in trying to reconnect with many of these “old friends” I wasn’t thinking about what effect these searches might be having on Jadyne, that she might wonder if I might be expressing an unfulfilled need, one that she believed should be hers to address. What all of these searches, statements, and conversations might have in common. is that they were all predicated on what I wanted to say or do, disregarding or not considering the effect they might have on others. Again, mea culpa.
But consider this. Have you ever thought about what you were going to say, weighed the pluses and minuses, then said it…and been mistaken? Could saying what another deems thoughtless actually be something that you thought was well-considered? Just wrong? Some years ago we saw an automotive ad in the classified section of the SF Chronicle for a brand new BMW M3 convertible. The writer of the ad, after owning the car for just a day or so, listed all the comforts and accessories that were part of the car, then added, “What was I thinking?”
These are all sins of commission, words and behaviors that should have been kept under wraps, We may regret what we’ve said or done, and if given the chance, would have chosen differently. But also flying out of Pandora’s box are the sins of omission, the words unsaid that might have saved a life, the hug that should have been hugged but wasn’t, the elderly person you didn’t visit, choosing a baseball game instead only to find out that elderly person was no more. I’m not just speaking of myself now, although that last phrase was all me. Bad choice.
Here’s a photo of Rawson, one of the kindest people I have ever known. In the Great Book of Regrets, failing to see him, which would have been for the last time, instead of a Reds game with my brother, is on the first page.
J Rawson Collins
Some years ago I had cataract surgery in my right eye. My blurry vision suddenly became 20-20, and I only need glasses for reading. I begged the surgeon to remove the smaller cataract in my left eye, but she said that the contact lens that I was wearing in that eye improved my vision so much that they wouldn’t operate. Even corrected it isn’t as good as my right eye. I wear one contact lens. Where my vision is flawless, though, uncorrected and unenhanced, requiring no modifications at all, is my hindsight. I’m better than 20-20. Through hindsight I have never offended anyone, caused misunderstandings, acted impulsively, sought pleasure for myself, or caused anyone to think ill of me. Had I thought first to use hindsight I wouldn’t be writing this essay..
Gail #2 wrote this today. “I ask that you think beyond yourself when you write to me.” I’m replying, I suppose, in this little essay. Of course. Sounds easy. Just measure twice. After getting burned by a hot stove we don’t have to be told not to touch it. Check. Should I think before committing a cataclysmic act that will turn someone else into a pillar of salt? Yes, of course I should…