Years ago, I worked with a fine gentleman whose philosophy of life was, as he told me, summed up in Kipling’s poem “If”.
In fact, I’ve been privileged to have met a number of very good people in my almost 3 score years, most of my current neighbors among them.
Unfortunately, I have one neighbor who has been a thorn in my side almost from the beginning. Although our yards abut, I don’t see her very often – luckily.
Her husband on the other hand is a fine person, friendly and kind. Twice in the 3 1/2 years I’ve lived here, he’s offered a helping hand, and he always politely waves when he drives by.
I’m not exactly sure why his wife has taken such a dislike to me. She comes from a privileged background, lives in a nice house, drives a nice car, and has two adorable, healthy children.
A couple of years ago, in conversation with a neighbor, this woman made a snide comment about my marital status, a source of deep embarassment and pain for me. Everyone who knows me realizes this: rubbing my face in it was as cruel as if I were physically crippled and she chided me for not being able to dance.
Since that time, the unpleasant neighbor lady has chosen to ignore me whenever she sees me, interrupting conversations while she gaily greets the other party, pretending that I, The Single, am not even there.
This happened again late yesterday afternoon, and it raised both my hackles and my sense of humiliation and self-loathing. I realized how much I’ve grown to hate this woman: every time I see her, it reminds me of her cruel remark and how much effort it takes to get through the course of every day with the overwhelming burden of my detestable, untouchable social status.
Something reminded me of her this morning, and instead of the usual fury, I was reminded of the 7th line of the poem “If”: “Or being hated, don’t give way to hating”.
Although it’s hard, I vowed to try my best to live up to that, for my own peace of mind. The woman can hate me all she wants for reasons I can’t control, and that’s that.