Paella & Grace

Sometimes, like this past month, life provides a little gratuitous drama. A couple that I’ve known for over ten years catalogued my transgressions dating back to the Summer of 2003 and turned these minor disputes into a zero-sum battle. So I chose to weed this couple from my life because, let’s face it, if someone can’t forgive me for breaking a pyrex plate five years ago that was probably replaced for $2 at a garage sale, what can they forgive me for? Not much.

I am slowly, clumsily trying to get over the need to be liked by everyone at all times, and feeling like a complete loser when can’t maintain relationships with everyone around me at all times. What is the point of maintaining a relationship if the other person insists on me kowtowing every step of the way and serving as her emotional punching bag? Cutting these types people loose, whether they’re lurking in the workplace or creeping into my personal life, is a little easier when I think about Anne Lamotte’s advice on writing and life:

[E]very single one of us at birth is given an emotional acre all our own…And as long as you don’t hurt anyone, you really get to do with your acre as you please. You can plant fruit trees or flowers or alphabetized rows of vegetables, or nothing at all. If you want your acre to look like a giant garage sale, or an auto-wrecking yard, that’s what you get to do with it. There’s a fence around your acre, though, with a gate, and if people keep coming onto your land and sliming it or trying to get you to do what they think is right, you get to ask them to leave. And they have to go, because this is your acre.

I suppose on my acre things break and backfire. I dunno, maybe I have an acre full of broken pyrex plates with “I’m awfully sorry” signs posted every six feet. I’d love to be perfect - believe me, it would let me lord so many things over so many people in my life, but I’m not. I make mistakes. Then I apologize. If forgiveness isn’t an option for me, I can’t stick around in a relationship holding my breath, feeling guilty over a pyrex plate.

And there’s not much to do about the drama other than develop a really good sense of humor while figuring out a core truth or two about life to move past the uncontrollable sobbing, eye rolling, and swearing that happens when people expect me to tiptoe around so that I don’t break anything, ever. It helps to surround myself with people who think that I’m brilliant and beautiful, and who find my shortcomings to be endearing quirks worthy of amusement and patience.

Of course, it can’t hurt to have my fabulous cook of a brother make paella and grilled veggies to bring ten of these more forgiving types to the table. This is what happened at my place over the weekend. After all the racing around for place settings was done, the living room rearranged, the flower arrangements made, the Ikea table set, the house fire averted, the hors d’oeuvres served, and everyone consumed a couple glasses of wine, I felt like opening up again. “Oh, so this is why holding a grudge is silly,” I thought as I surveyed the gathering, “these are good people. And they don’t mind the complete lack of leg room underneath these makeshift dining tables.”

I like people who don’t mind getting their knees bruised underneath my dinner table. Because sometimes relationships that bring a lot of joy and laughter also bring a few bumps and bruises along the way. So, being able to offer a sincere apology or provide space for forgiveness allow us let go of silly grudges and invite family and friends back to the dinner table for more good food, good wine and good laughs.