Occhiolism – An awareness of how small and limited our perspective is.

###

Much like gawking at car crashes, I often scan the obituaries from several of the communities I once called home. It’s not that I expect or fear I may find my name or the names of family members and close friends. I might know about those without referring to the media.

My interest, I hope, is not morbid, but in a culture that denies death and is obsessed with youth, any discussion of mortality, I have found, can be viewed as, well, deadly.

It’s hard to chalk up my searches to curiosity, since there’s no mystery. Eventually all will appear in the chronicles of time passing. Often, however, an obit provides an opportunity to remember fondly those who were once friends, neighbors or worthy acquaintances, enough so to sanction a sincere offer of condolences to survivors. While lives that end by violence or addiction, or the tragedy of a child’s death are understandingly unsettling, there is another class of obituaries that especially troubles me: The obituaries of those people whom I knew and whom I was not fully reconciled with at the time of their passing. I regret that there’s now nothing to be done to repair a failed relationship. But is there something that can be done for one’s own soul?

Can we forgive ourselves for only knowing belatedly that other choices might have been made?

The Swiss psychiatrist and father of analytical psychology, Dr. Carl Jung, said the intensity of our negative reaction to another person often corresponds to the degree that we have not dealt in our own lives with the darkness we see, and detest, in them. The young man that I was would have said “nonsense.”

Jung wasn’t the first to theorize about our projection of our failings on others. A 13th century poet/mystic named Rumi wrote:

Many of faults you see in others, dear reader,
Are your own nature reflected in them.
As the Prophet said,
The faithful are mirrors to one another.

When I think of those who have just passed and the fact that I never got over my dark feelings about them, I ask myself, why is that?

And what is the cost of not letting go of an eternal grudge?

For a decade, “Bill” and I shared the political stage in a small town. Recently, Bill, a decade my senior, died.

Although 25 years had passed since I last saw Bill, I still viewed him in an unfavorable way.

Now, belatedly, I consider the reality of our political rivalry and conclude, “You idiot, of course in politics people are going to oppose you. Especially those whose perch you threaten. You were very young (age 29) when you first took political office and, in your arrogance, did you really think your views on every subject were unassailable?”

Of course I did.

What were the things you didn’t like about Bill? His claim of unquestioned integrity? His “virtue signaling”? The seeming differences between his private life and his public proclamations?

Yes, all of that.

Have I ever done hypocritical things? Let me count the instances and describe the myriad ways. This could take some time.

Now I understand that I was shaped and made a better office holder by knowing my reasoning would be challenged by Bill and others, forcing me to make better decisions. Today I am grateful. My first term in political office featured success, failure and many near misses. It would’ve been worse, but for the opposition that shaped my judgment.

And what good has my stubborn refusal to move on done me or anyone else?

Multiple peer-reviewed articles in scientific journals note that when a person perseverates about old hurts, the amygdala, the portion of the brain that deals with emotions, treats the ancient memory as if it was a current threat.

Did I really need decades of that occasional, if fleeting, but always unpleasant, sense of existential stress?

Thoughts of old hurts will shape our reality, until we reframe them. Finally, I understand — we see things, not as they are, but as we are. And when we deny our darker side, we undeservedly put ourselves on a pedestal, a place without hope for a growth that offers peace.

I’m not saying that I was wrong in viewing Bill as a mortal enemy of my inadvertent political career — I was appointed to a job that I really didn’t want — but once I left that position, he was just a bad memory.

“Bad” because we were both smart enough to make things better, but we never did.

In The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, the invented words “Nodus Tollens” appear. (Aren’t all words invented?) The phrase is defined as the realization that one’s life story, the things we say to ourselves about ourselves, no longer makes sense. How absurd to think of ourselves on a hero’s journey, with everyone in opposition an enemy rather than as people who, regardless of intent, might serve to instill a sense of humility.

And eventually, wisdom, which is a far better foundation for a peaceful life than a mind contaminated by hurtful memories from a time of foolish, fiery, youthful passions.

###

Steven Pence retired from Michigan, where he served as an attorney with legal services, was an elected prosecutor and a county commissioner, seven years ago. He finished his legal career in private practice. He is married and lives in Ferndale with his wife, Teresa. He’s been a freelance writer, both in Michigan and California.