This final segment on revenge comes with a disclosure about my motivation for this three-part series. Someone I love, someone I have known for 25 years, since they were 7 and I was 47, someone I have done much for in their life, offended me deeply in a well-crafted, detailed, acerbic text message days before one of the biggest milestones of their life. (I use the gender-neutral pronouns they, them, and their to conceal their identity.) I was so deeply insulted by their comments that I was too stunned to respond or to talk even to my wife, daughters, or closest friends about the attack. Anyone who knows me would say my reaction was uncharacteristic. I typically do not hestitate to express my feelings, except for when my expression might ge hurtful to someone. Many thoughts swirled through my head, foremost that we humans tend to hurt most and express anger most to those we love most. I knew they loved me too. I did not respond to their message. Although they followed up with an attempt to apologize, I could see that their words were self-righteous and self-justifying, with no real sense of accountability for their comments. I teach adults how to apologize in speech and in writing, and this person I love so much failed abysmally in doing so. I expected better from a 32-year-old.
Days later, I shared the message with my wife, who can be more forgiving that I in some situations. She was outraged that this person would write such a blistering invective about me. She suggested that I stop communicating with them. But this was not an option for me. I still loved them. Their directing such venom toward me was clearly motivated by a problem they were having with someone else. On the day of that person's milestone, I wished them well. I could have said so much about their own shortcomings, but to what end? I could have said that in writing such a trenchant, negative message, they were behaving worse than the people who were offending them. But what good would that do?
Please read my two previous posts on revenge, the one about Taha Muhammad Ali's poem "Revenge," which imagines an offense far worse than any pain I could imagine, and the one about what masters say about revenge. Both pieces confirm that the greatest manifestation of power is restraint. More than two weeks after the offense, I am still hurting. Yet I find great solace in the words of these healers. My ability to read has saved my soul—and others pain—more than once.
