You would think we would know all about our failings instinctively. Well, I would anyway. They’re my failings, after all, who could possibly know them better than me?
That’s probably one of my failings right there. Thinking that I should know my own failings automatically and with consummate ease.
That’s not really the way it works, is it?
Our own failings are elusive things, to ourselves at least. Oh we think we know them, we can reel a list of them off in a neat litany if required.
That’s probably one of my failings right there. Thinking that I should know my own failings automatically and with consummate ease.
That’s not really the way it works, is it?
Our own failings are elusive things, to ourselves at least. Oh we think we know them, we can reel a list of them off in a neat litany if required.
It’s like when we were very young and were brought to confession by the school teachers. We came up with a few superficial sins quite easily, something to carry us through the process without incurring too much sanction. “I told a lie, I was rude to Mum and Dad, I peed in the holy water thing…”. It’s just the same in real life (for me at least). I can list a dose of my failings for you, if you like, but they’re only superficial ones. They don’t go right down to the bone.
The reason I’m writing this is because I think I noted one of my real failings recently. One of those ‘bone deep’ ones that keep themselves hidden from me most of the time.
What happened was that I found myself in quite a good mood and, as I took my good mood from door-to-door (figure of speech) on my daily routine, I suddenly found that everybody else was in a better mood too. People were a bit more outgoing and chatty and fun. “How odd,” I thought, “that just when I got happy, everybody else got happy too.”
That’s the moment I got reminded of this failing of mine.
I say ‘reminded’ quite deliberately. This revelation shouldn’t have been any news to me. I’d seen it clearly demonstrated at least once before. I think we tend to forget our failings, after we find them out. It’s probably quite understandable that we would.
The first time this failing became apparent to me was not ‘today-or-yesterday’ either. In fact, I remember exactly when it was. It was on 4th January 1986. I was driving back to London after a good Christmas back home and I had a couple of friends riding along with me. Some of them stop by here for a read now and again so Hi, guys, I hope I tell this right.
I remember the date so vividly is because it was quite a memorable one. It was the day that Phil Lynott died. It was utterly miserable. We were leaving home yet again, we had two hideous car journeys and a ferry journey ahead of us and Brush Shiels was crying on the car radio for his poor lost friend.
Awful…
Here’s the thing.
My friends – the other people in the car – were being awful all the way along the first part of the journey. They were being miserable, self-centred, ill-tempered, cranky and utterly without joy. In fact, they were getting me down. When we arrived at our pit stop in Dublin, one of these friends – a very great one – took me aside and had a quiet word.
“Can you please just stop?” she said.
“Stop what?” I said.
“Stop being miserable. You are being ill-tempered, cranky and utterly without joy. Can you just stop?”
I learned one of my failings that day and then promptly forgot it again. What it is, I go around thinking the whole rest of the world is being miserable and stupid while actually it’s me being miserable and stupid the whole time and the rest of the world is just treating me in kind.
That day in the car? Everybody was fine. Everybody except me. I was being a miserable git but all I saw was myself being reflected back at me in those other poor people who were unfortunate to be present.
I’m a Silly Git.
This happened all over again recently. As people became chattier and generally happier in themselves, the lesson I learned back in ’86 slowly came back to me. It is one of my failings that I impose my own misery on other people’s countenances and then blame them for that.
It’s important that I remember my failing this time around. Maybe this post will serve as a reminder. It doesn’t mean I’ll change or that I’ll do anything differently. I actually reckon I won’t.
But at least I will be aware of what I’m doing.
That’s gotta help, right?
The reason I’m writing this is because I think I noted one of my real failings recently. One of those ‘bone deep’ ones that keep themselves hidden from me most of the time.
What happened was that I found myself in quite a good mood and, as I took my good mood from door-to-door (figure of speech) on my daily routine, I suddenly found that everybody else was in a better mood too. People were a bit more outgoing and chatty and fun. “How odd,” I thought, “that just when I got happy, everybody else got happy too.”
That’s the moment I got reminded of this failing of mine.
I say ‘reminded’ quite deliberately. This revelation shouldn’t have been any news to me. I’d seen it clearly demonstrated at least once before. I think we tend to forget our failings, after we find them out. It’s probably quite understandable that we would.
The first time this failing became apparent to me was not ‘today-or-yesterday’ either. In fact, I remember exactly when it was. It was on 4th January 1986. I was driving back to London after a good Christmas back home and I had a couple of friends riding along with me. Some of them stop by here for a read now and again so Hi, guys, I hope I tell this right.
I remember the date so vividly is because it was quite a memorable one. It was the day that Phil Lynott died. It was utterly miserable. We were leaving home yet again, we had two hideous car journeys and a ferry journey ahead of us and Brush Shiels was crying on the car radio for his poor lost friend.
Awful…
Here’s the thing.
My friends – the other people in the car – were being awful all the way along the first part of the journey. They were being miserable, self-centred, ill-tempered, cranky and utterly without joy. In fact, they were getting me down. When we arrived at our pit stop in Dublin, one of these friends – a very great one – took me aside and had a quiet word.
“Can you please just stop?” she said.
“Stop what?” I said.
“Stop being miserable. You are being ill-tempered, cranky and utterly without joy. Can you just stop?”
I learned one of my failings that day and then promptly forgot it again. What it is, I go around thinking the whole rest of the world is being miserable and stupid while actually it’s me being miserable and stupid the whole time and the rest of the world is just treating me in kind.
That day in the car? Everybody was fine. Everybody except me. I was being a miserable git but all I saw was myself being reflected back at me in those other poor people who were unfortunate to be present.
I’m a Silly Git.
This happened all over again recently. As people became chattier and generally happier in themselves, the lesson I learned back in ’86 slowly came back to me. It is one of my failings that I impose my own misery on other people’s countenances and then blame them for that.
It’s important that I remember my failing this time around. Maybe this post will serve as a reminder. It doesn’t mean I’ll change or that I’ll do anything differently. I actually reckon I won’t.
But at least I will be aware of what I’m doing.
That’s gotta help, right?