Ooops!

“Choice is freedom. As with most freedoms, choice carries tremendous responsibility. We want to make choices that resonate with our heart’s desire and keep us going in the right direction.” ---from The Mindful Woman by Sue Patton Thoele

I’ve never been very good at multi-tasking.

Completing 20 published novels taught me the importance of focusing on one endeavor at a time, and it’s a lesson that has served me well. By staying in the present moment and focusing on the task at hand, I could sit at a desk in a small, noisy office and write 10-12 news stories a week. Now I stay in the present moment, focus my attention on one individual at a time and (mostly!) conclude transactions at the library quickly and efficiently.

The times I’ve attempted to do more than one thing at once, I’ve always ended up feeling frazzled, and when I’m feeling frazzled my attention span shifts into the zero zone. I’ve known this about myself for a long time, but still….

Last week I decided to multi-task twice, hurrying to send out two e-mails while my mind was elsewhere, only to realize (too late!) that there were a couple of people on my contact list that I hadn’t really intended to…contact.

As one of the few places in my neighborhood with power, Internet and WiFi, the Kingwood Branch Library has been crazy busy the past week – in a good way, but still, crazy busy. There’s barely been time to check e-mail, much less respond to messages from friends and family. When we received a message from library central filled with “after Ike” information - help lines, Web sites, how to (maybe!) find FEMA – I took a moment and forwarded it to everyone on my contact list. The next morning, halfway out the door on my way to work, I stopped for a quick moment and e-mailed all my contacts again to let them know I’d posted my own “after Ike” news on readerwritergirl.

To my dismay, one of those didn’t-intend-to-contact contacts contacted me by return e-mail and invited me to dinner. Not a response I’d expected, certainly not a response I’d wanted. However inadvertently (and unintentionally), I’d opened a door that needed to stay shut, and now I had to deal with it.

I met Harley Dude on eHarmony in early 2004. He had a really nice Harley Davidson motorcycle, and I’ve always loved motorcycles. He also seemed like a pretty decent guy. We had fun together for a while, but four months into the relationship, serious issues arose, a lie was intentionally told, and we parted company by mutual agreement.

I know that people change. I certainly have. We’d all like a second-chance do-over or two (or ten!), as well. But in order for one person to believe that another person has changed enough to deserve a second chance, there has to be a solid foundation of love and trust between them. A lie intentionally told early in a relationship is my idea of instant rubble. So is failure to control anger; abusive and/or condescending behavior toward anyone, especially me; and a basic lack of empathy for other people.

One thing I’ve learned (the hard way, of course!) about trying to stand on a pile of rubble – you’re going to take a big-time tumble.

Maybe all he wanted was to share a meal, but my first instinct was not to do it – not under any circumstances. To be honest, my gut clenched as I read his e-mail, and another thing I’ve learned (yes - the hard way, of course!) is not to ignore that kind of bad feeling.

I wanted to halt any further communication as soon as possible, but I didn’t want to be unkind to him.

Okay, I’ll admit it – I wanted to be unkind - really unkind - but only for a moment. Okay…okay…I thought about exactly what I wanted to say, and I chose the most perfect words, but I didn’t actually say them within anyone’s hearing...I sort of muttered them to myself...all afternoon! I had never told him how badly I'd been hurt by his behavior, and I wanted him to know. Only it was four years later, I'd moved on with my life, and I didn't want to deal with excuses and explanations that I wouldn't believe anyway.

Understandable, then, that I figured it wasn’t a good idea to talk to him, and I didn’t think I should have to. Unless he’d suffered a severe blow to the head, resulting in four years of amnesia, he’d have to know why I wasn’t interested in seeing him again.

So I sent a polite (as possible!) “thanks, but no thanks” e-mail.

His terse reply was so reassuring. In fact, I couldn't help but smile as I read it.

I’d made the right choice. I had moved in the right direction. I had closed the door once again.