Not
My Circus
It was long ago and far away, in a waitressing kind of world.
The young woman’s face showed traces of recent tears.
She grinned cheerfully at me and started chit-chatting
about the weather or some such, laughing.
A touch on her arm stopped her mid-sentence.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing!’
A little too emphatic and no eye contact.
Hmmm …
Silently I just looked at her and finally I caught her
eyes.
‘No. Not here. Not now. I can’t. I have to go.’
‘Later.’
It was not a question.
‘Yes.’
And off she went. Both of us had jobs to do and so we did
them.
In the pit of my belly I felt what she could not tell me.
She was hurting, in pretty bad pain. Her belly was in
knots worse than mine. Her heart was bleeding from wounds my own could only
just barely feel. Her soul was torn, rent so raggedly that I could hardly find
a place to get a hold on it, like a hundred broken-winged birds trying to fly.
Later came.
This time there was no hiding anything. Tears rose,
coursed her face, fell. Her heart and her soul were in those tears, little
rivers finding their way down the pretty face of this young woman. Swelling as
pent emotions began to locate the breaches in walls that had been for too long
far too effective, little rivers became raging torrents. Torrents became lakes
only to overflow banks and continue on their way. The room in which we sat was
soon flooded.
This is what it feels like, folks.
In those tears are the very sharp and dangerous shards of
the little pokes and snarky words collected over time. In them are the snickers
and laughter (not quite accidentally) loud enough for her to hear. In them are
averted eyes. In them are greetings not spoken, encouragement not given,
respect withheld. In them also are pain of loss, poverty, hopelessness, worry,
doubt, fear. In them are also many other powerfully destructive interactions which
cannot bear being named.
Riding atop the tumultuous waves is the will to continue
of this person. It looks fragile, so very fragile, by comparison. Yet it has
survived.
When you knowingly and deliberately add to the pressure
of the burdens the tears of this young woman represent, you are doing her harm.
When you allow, or worse yet instigate, behaviors
designed to encourage others to do harm to this person, culpability lies at
your feet. Guilt lies heavy on your shoulders. Do you feel the weight of that
unholy mantle?
You will never see the tears. You will never feel what
you wreak so heedlessly in this young woman. It is not to you she will come
when those tears can no longer be stifled.
Around us roils the tumult of emotions of others, the
ones that are beginning to leak out past the too strong walls. That you are
impervious is no doubt a blessing to you. Were you actually able to experience
the devastation of the environment you have wrought, it would overwhelm you. It
often threatens to overwhelm me, and I’m not even the guilty party here.
Not my circus, not my monkeys.
You created the circus. It IS
your circus; they ARE your monkeys.
Fortunately the young woman of this post did manage to hang on to her will to continue. The effects of that long ago time linger - they have tended to make her stronger over the years.
So really what are you accomplishing?
In this case, motivating one of your monkeys to escape.
In other cases perhaps more dangerously effective consequences could have resulted.
For all you know (or care) your choices may well have contributed to (or directly caused) permanent harm to another.
Not your circus?
If you create the circus, they are your monkeys.
Own it.
