Long ago, a friend and I went for a long hike in the mountains. It was fall, and the leaves were gorgeous, but I was a little afraid of the changeable weather, so we stopped and bought a couple of ponchos. I also picked up a pocket knife, not really sure why I thought I'd need it. My friend got a free trail map, and we set off. We checked the scale and decided on our route, based on the number of miles and the hours till sunset.
I noticed, about halfway through the hike, that we didn't seem as far along as the map made it appear. Also, the sky seemed to be growing dark, as if there were a storm coming up. But when we got to a clearing at the top of the last hill, we realized we were wrong. The darkness was the setting sun! It was only 430 pm, but we had driven so far north that in this part of the country it was already evening. We tried to scramble as fast as we could out of the forest, but got stuck in utter darkness at the last mile. We literally couldn't see the trail, or the trees, or each other.
Unfortunately, now the wind picked up, and it started to rain. I laid one poncho down on what I guessed was the trail and we lay on it, drawing the other one over us and snapping them to each other, but it was still so cold our teeth were chattering, so I jumped up and cut some leafy branches and layered them over the top poncho. That helped.
As the night wore on it grew colder and colder, dropping to near freezing. The rain began to sound like gravel tossed into the trees. We could feel the little trickle of rain water growing to an icy puddle under us, but there was no way to move in the pitch darkness.
We took turns being scared and comforting each other, wondering if we would end up with pneumonia, if anyone knew we were missing, if anyone would come to help us. We promised to call each others folks if anything happened to one of us. When my friend started to give up , I cheered him on, and him me. We knew there were bears in the area, and that as the temperature continued to drop, we faced a good chance of hypothermia, but we tried not to talk or think about the things we couldn't help. He kept apologizing for buying the wrong map, not planning better, not thinking ahead. I apologized for not realizing we needed a contour map, for forgetting that hiking up and down hills slows us down, for not thinking about the latitude. We took turns forgiving each other too. Then one of us would get scared again, and the other would begin comforting them.
We reminded each other to check for feeling in our hands and feet, and we fantasized about the enormous breakfast we were going to eat once we got out of this freezing wet predicament. When his feet got too cold I lent him one of my wool socks and we switched from foot to foot as each one warmed up. We were freezing cold, thirsty, soaked and muddy at the first gray peek of predawn, but we were ok. We grabbed our filthy ponchos and ran as fast as we could toward the end of the trail. We got to the trailhead at about 530 AM, jumped into his car, laughing at how scared we'd been. We hadn't eaten since the morning before, so we drove to the first diner we could find, and ate everything on the menu. I don't think anyone really noticed how filthy and wet we were, not even us. It was such a relief to be in civilization again, that just knowing we'd soon be getting hot showers and warm clean clothes was all we needed.
I often remember that weekend, when I'm facing a difficult period with a friend, family member, or my partner, because I learned something important that night. No matter how much you and your partner prepare for what lies ahead, there will be mistakes, and rocky times. You'll take turns in despair and hope, and as long as you keep each other focused on where you're going, the sun really does come up, maybe not as soon as you hope, but you're going to make it. And you're going to learn how to face the next crisis better prepared, and with a new respect for your partner-- and for the plain old normal days that follow.
Monday
Dishonesty corrodes every relationship it touches.
This thought came into my head on the way to work today. I was thinking about a friend who had been dishonest with me once in a while, mostly by omission. I didn't realize this was going on at first, and then, when I would find out about a little lie, for example, I asked him if he smoked, and he said no. Later I ran into him on the street with a cigarette in his hand. Who cares, right? He had so many other good qualities I look for in a friend. He was one of those people who always make you feel confident and strong: a booster when you're making a personal or career move, the kind of guy who would pay the bill at dinner just because it made him feel good to be generous. I had no problem introducing him to my circle of friends, who took to him as much as I had.
Over time as we got to know each other better, more important things came to light: he'd cheated on his wife (but, he explained, he was really separated from her, even though they were living in the same house when the events occurred). He'd lied on his resume to get his first job. He'd lied to his fiancee about wanting to have children. There was always a good reason. He was a good friend, I thought, helpful and kind. Other friends liked him a lot, too. They of course, didn't know he was dishonest. He seemed very much the opposite, the kind of guy you would trust to be there for you when things went wrong. He was there when you needed support, he'd help you move, bring food over when you were sick, he won his fiancee's family over during a family funeral, including making sure everyone was fed and the out of town relatives had a place to stay, even helping find a funeral home and burial plot. He was their rock during that difficult time.
Great guy, right? This is what I told myself whenever I had doubts. I was so busy trying to believe my own excuses for his occasional bouts of dishonesty, that when my pain medication started disappearing, I honestly believed it was someone else in our circle. I asked him directly at one point and he denied it.
"Of course not, if I needed one, I'd ask you first," he said. So I started hiding them around the house when friends came over, counting them religiously every night, worrying that I myself was taking them when I didn't need them and just not remembering. I even started keeping a tally on the pill bottle. Then one day I caught him with his hands in the drawer where I had hidden them. "What are you doing?!" I asked him. "Nothing," he said and left the room in a rush. I counted the pills and sure enough, two were missing. I confronted him about it, and we had a bit of an argument. He admitted he was taking them "recreationally." Even though he knows I have herniated disks that cause me a great deal of pain, and knows that my doctor could cut me off if it looks like I'm taking too many. To this day he's never given me a believable reason why he thought taking them was ok, especially after I'd asked him the first time.
He's since apologized, and said that was a "wake up call" for him. I don't know if I can get over that experience. It still makes me angry to think of it. At one point I was afraid it was my son, who was a teenager at the time, or one of his friends taking them. Thank God I never asked. Just imagine what that would have done to the trust relationship between my son and me.
Is it worse I wonder, that he let me distrust not just all my other friends, but my son, or is it worse that he made me question and distrust myself? And all because this so called friend wanted to have a momentary rush of euphoria when no one was looking. I believe people can change for the better, but I'd be crazy to assume he really has.
When we evaluate our friendships, and our role in them, we often let our emotions color our judgement. It's important not only to be honest yourself, but to require honesty from those you love. How can you have a real relationship with someone you don't know? And how can you know someone if you're not sure they're telling the truth? And finally, how can we be loved if we're wearing the mask of dishonesty? No one can know and accept you if you can't be truthful.
Over time as we got to know each other better, more important things came to light: he'd cheated on his wife (but, he explained, he was really separated from her, even though they were living in the same house when the events occurred). He'd lied on his resume to get his first job. He'd lied to his fiancee about wanting to have children. There was always a good reason. He was a good friend, I thought, helpful and kind. Other friends liked him a lot, too. They of course, didn't know he was dishonest. He seemed very much the opposite, the kind of guy you would trust to be there for you when things went wrong. He was there when you needed support, he'd help you move, bring food over when you were sick, he won his fiancee's family over during a family funeral, including making sure everyone was fed and the out of town relatives had a place to stay, even helping find a funeral home and burial plot. He was their rock during that difficult time.
Great guy, right? This is what I told myself whenever I had doubts. I was so busy trying to believe my own excuses for his occasional bouts of dishonesty, that when my pain medication started disappearing, I honestly believed it was someone else in our circle. I asked him directly at one point and he denied it.
"Of course not, if I needed one, I'd ask you first," he said. So I started hiding them around the house when friends came over, counting them religiously every night, worrying that I myself was taking them when I didn't need them and just not remembering. I even started keeping a tally on the pill bottle. Then one day I caught him with his hands in the drawer where I had hidden them. "What are you doing?!" I asked him. "Nothing," he said and left the room in a rush. I counted the pills and sure enough, two were missing. I confronted him about it, and we had a bit of an argument. He admitted he was taking them "recreationally." Even though he knows I have herniated disks that cause me a great deal of pain, and knows that my doctor could cut me off if it looks like I'm taking too many. To this day he's never given me a believable reason why he thought taking them was ok, especially after I'd asked him the first time.
He's since apologized, and said that was a "wake up call" for him. I don't know if I can get over that experience. It still makes me angry to think of it. At one point I was afraid it was my son, who was a teenager at the time, or one of his friends taking them. Thank God I never asked. Just imagine what that would have done to the trust relationship between my son and me.
Is it worse I wonder, that he let me distrust not just all my other friends, but my son, or is it worse that he made me question and distrust myself? And all because this so called friend wanted to have a momentary rush of euphoria when no one was looking. I believe people can change for the better, but I'd be crazy to assume he really has.
When we evaluate our friendships, and our role in them, we often let our emotions color our judgement. It's important not only to be honest yourself, but to require honesty from those you love. How can you have a real relationship with someone you don't know? And how can you know someone if you're not sure they're telling the truth? And finally, how can we be loved if we're wearing the mask of dishonesty? No one can know and accept you if you can't be truthful.
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