Mea Culpa

Guilt is a strange phenomenon. Not the crime type, but the internal mind twisting type. The not so rational type.

And firstly, I feel guilty about saying it, with all the reality that is out there, natural and man-made, that is devastating large portions of the globe.

But, as a means of clearing it from the rattling recesses of the mind, even if it is a fairly self-absorbed activity, does seem to clarify things.

It’s a feeling, not clear and razor-sharp, but vague and dull, and pervading. A feeling that, whatever the situation, whatever the outcome, it should have been better, different, less unsatisfactory, more resolved in outcome.

I wasn’t quite sure whether this was just the lot of a parent, but as many of the guilt points aren’t related to parenthood, I have decided to put that to one side. As well as having to acknowledge that, whether through luck, judgement, or inherited traits from elsewhere, the singular fruit of my loins is not bad at all.

Also, the theory that it is based in the classic Jewish trope of chest-beating as a standard starting point has to be dismissed as more myth than reality.

And so I am left with the reality that, whether based in fact or assumption, the feeling of guilt, of failure, is part of the psyche that is my companion.

One failed marriage can be written off as a failure on both sides, two failures start to point towards an inability to pass muster. And, even though it always felt that I was subverting self for the support of the partner, it ended as unsatisfactory. Or perhaps the subversion was the problem.

And that is echoed in the career, or lack of career. A lack of a clear vision, a powerful dose of indecision – over so many years – and a propensity to settle too soon for the easy option; and the result is 40 years without a mark made on the world.

Friends, some close, some heavily entwined for a while, have disappeared from the diary. And each time with a feeling that not enough was done to help, support, provide what was needed.

Family, that assumed rock that supports the wider life, has never been as solid as some would have hoped or expected. Parents, yes. Son yes. As to the remainder, I have never been entirely sure how to fulfill the expectations of those involved.

There are positives too, of course. In the past few years I have discovered what an alternative family can be, and enjoying extending circles of friends based on something more than just circumstance and proximity.

But that shadow still remains. What should have been said, done, not done, not said. The missed moments, chances. The missed opportunity to hold out a hand to catch, to support.

It feels disgustingly self-indulgent to scatter this across the ether, but some of the positives that have arrived in recent times have been down to externalising the clouds that block the light.

The other positives – they are down to flesh and blood, and having a place.

Guilt, real or imagined, will probably always be a weight that keeps the black dog with reasons to bark – or the other way round – but it is good to have close and understanding support. Gin and hugs – great for carrying weights.