First, the Story
I’m a freelance writer. About a month and a half ago, a woman contacted me, saying she was interested in generating blog posts to support her fledgling therapy practice, and she made an appointment for an initial Zoom consultation with me, but she cancelled the day before. She wrote: “Something came up that I have to take care of tomorrow, so I will be out all day. I’m so sorry for the last minute notice.” This was a little disturbing because I have to psych myself up for these meetings emotionally, and do a little research in advance, looking carefully at the prospective client’s profile and specialty (if they have one). So her late cancellation felt ungraceful but I didn’t let it bother me too much.
Then she reached out again a week or two later, reaffirming that she wanted to talk with me (“Hi! I am definitely still interested.”) and requesting another appointment. So we set one up for a week ago this past Tuesday. On Monday I sent her a reminder note and she replied: “Thank you! I’m definitely looking forward to our conversation tomorrow too.”
Because she lives on the east coast and I’m a late sleeper on the west coast, I needed to set my alarm for our meeting. This would make for a sleepy day, because I knew I would not go back to sleep once awake. Our meeting was scheduled for 10 a.m. Pacific Time (which was the latest she said she could meet – that is, 1 p.m. her time). I got myself up a bit before 9 a.m. (having gone to bed between 3 and 4 a.m.), performed my various ablutions to freshen up, dressed smartly, and dragged a chair in front of my bookcase so I’d look professional on the call. (I always do that.) I pulled the little computer table over and arrived in my Zoom room a few minutes early.
By 10:10, she still had not arrived.
I clicked into my browser and navigated to my LinkedIn inbox to check if there was a message from her. There was, timestamped 9:55 a.m. It said this:
Hi Marc,
I was just reading the articles that you sent me to prepare for our Zoom call. I didn’t realize how much it would cost to employ a ghostwriter. Unfortunately, at this time, things are really tight for me financially, so I wouldn’t be able to afford to pay for your services right now and I would feel horrible wasting your time knowing I wouldn’t be able to work with you and pay you.
If my circumstances change, I will definitely let you know. I’m so sorry for any inconvenience.”
The articles she was referring to were very brief pieces describing how I work and how I charge. I had linked her to them before we had even set up our first appointment – that is, well over a month ago.
I quickly wrote back the following note:
Well, we might have negotiated something, but frankly I feel it is disrespectful of you to have cancelled five minutes before our scheduled meeting, particularly after having cancelled a meeting on short notice once before.
I am angry with you at this moment. I’m sure you don’t like it when others disrespect your time. We need not try again.”
Second, the Backstory
On New Year’s Eve 2024 (that is, two New Year’s Eves ago), I made a resolution never to speak or act from vengeance for at least an entire year. And I kept that resolution, though sometimes I skirted the edges of it a little without thinking. But largely, I did a great job! And I felt it changed me. So I decided to renew the commitment for this year.
Writing that (arguably mild) reprimanding note to the no-show woman was the first time I deliberately broke the resolution since I’d first made it. So this was a watershed moment.
I mean, I knew what I was doing. I did not simply write back to her impulsively. I absolutely had a choice, and I made the choice based on what my mind determined to be in my best interests, and also what my mind deemed to be an “appropriate” response.
My body had had a different reaction though, and I was conscious of that too. My body was thrilled that the meeting was cancelled and the day ahead of me was now free and clear. So many things I could do with that free day!
But the experience of people disrespecting my time and energy is an ancient trigger for me. And though I wasn’t truly feeling angry, I knew there was a strong possibility I’d be enraged later when I thought about it, so I figured I’d “protect myself” against any slow-dawning disgust or regret by “standing up for myself” right at the moment, doling out a little punishment, righteously spanking that woman with my words in a professional, restrained, homeopathic sort of way, calculated to induce shame and guilt just in case she didn’t feel them already, or wasn’t feeling them badly enough to satisfy my sense of justice.
That is: revenge, pure and simple. My first deliberate act of vengeance in over a year.
I didn’t know why, but I was subsequently depressed all day and couldn’t accomplish much of anything. I don’t think I even managed to go for a walk.
Third, the Meta-Story
Deep down, I knew she was truly sorry.
But I only realized that I knew it a good deal later.
I recalled examining her LinkedIn profile, and how skimpy it was, and I knew she was very inexperienced at her vocation, and that she was unsure of herself, and it made sense that she didn’t have a lot of money yet (and couldn’t afford a ghostwriter), and she’d been kind of stabbing in the dark with the idea of creating a blog to attract a clientele.
Okay, but why did she wait to read my materials until only minutes before our scheduled meeting when they’d been in her possession for over a month? It was rude of her to blow me off at the last second. Right?
I mean, “rudeness” is a thing, right? She was rude. I had to call her on it.
Ummm … but the thing is, I was certain she knew that. She knew she had been rude and inconsiderate. And she probably also knew I’d call her on it, that I’d slap her down for it a little (or a lot! I could have been a vindictive psycho for all she knew, or someone who would respond with grossly scathing words).
Although, she would not have thought all this out consciously.
So (ergo!) by scolding her, I had actually colluded with her in perpetuating some probably chronic, compulsive, low-self-esteem-driven, self-shaming cycle of hers.
And in turn I had reified my own unconscious belief in my own unworthiness because, you see, in order to have been angry at her – in order to even believe I even had something to be angry about – I had to have taken her behavior personally on some level, and why would I have taken it personally unless I imagined that it was somehow a reflection of me?
I know this is very convoluted, but that’s the point.
This stranger and I had performed a convoluted little fandango with each other, each of us driven by our respective unconscious shadows.
Stepping back now, I stand awestruck at the controlling power of unconscious wounds. I wonder if I should write to the woman again with forgiveness and understanding and some explanation of how I now view what happened. (Or would that be too weird? Yeah, probably. No telling how it might be received. Might not be helpful.)
But taking this little insight further, observing how I get automatically “ticked off” into vindictiveness and what I might call “vengeance consciousness,” does it really make sense to blame anyone for anything at all? To despise people for their brokenness?
And yeah, as you may have anticipated, I’m taking this line of thought all the way to Trump and Musk.
I listened to a revelatory (and I do HIGHLY recommend it!) podcast by the American Buddhist teacher Tara Brach recently, in which she alludes at one point to Father Greg Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, the world’s largest gang intervention and rehabilitation program, which has successfully brought rival gang members together into a healing community, on the basis of “two unwavering principles … The first is that everyone is unshakably good; no exceptions. The second is we belong to each other; no exceptions.”
Brach goes on to remark, “Now, do I think all of our vexing and complex social dilemmas would disappear if we embrace these two notions? Yes, I do. I do!” (And if you listen closely you can hear her breathing a little chuckle at this point.)
Shame and Patriotism
So, back in the political realm, at my second Braver Angels meeting, I spoke to a self-identified “red” voter who did not share my alarm about what is happening to America, but when I declared that I was distressed and frightened because “I love my country!” he responded sincerely, and with some surprise, that it was nice to hear a “leftie” say that.
What do you mean? Don’t you think liberals are patriotic too?
I could have asked him that but it would have been disingenuous because, as we all know, the American left ceded the flag to the “other side” a long time ago. The stars and stripes are widely viewed as a reactionary emblem these days. When I see a flag decal on a truck, for example, I assume it probably belongs to a gun-toting MAGA guy. (You too, maybe?)
How did this happen? I think I know why. I think it’s all about shame.
We “leftie” types are painfully aware of our nation’s spotted (to say the least) history: CIA coups of democratically elected governments in other parts of the world; ruthless economic colonialism and exploitation (see Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins); the atrocity of slavery; genocide of Native Americans and on and on. So we feel ashamed of our privilege, guilty for what we have and for what we know our lives of abundance cost other people in distant places.
But strangely, what we may overlook is that despite all this collective national shadow, we have been afforded (at least up until now, and hopefully beyond) the blessings of free speech and free thought, as well as access to tons of information, including data that incriminates our country’s policies over time and impugns our own privilege!
So in a very real sense, it is quintessentially American to feel ashamed of America.
But we also know that our country has made remarkable progress over the last two-and-a-half centuries, with respect to workers’ rights and civil rights and women’s rights and gay rights and freedom of expression. We know that there exist many countries where it is terrifyingly dangerous to speak or even to think freely — entire societies pervaded by relentless paranoia.
When I look inside myself at my American identity I can see both pride and shame. But “pride” is a weird word. I don’t mean pride in an egotistical sense. I think patriotic pride, in its purest form, is a mixture of gratitude and awe and spiritedness – an abiding affirmation of our collective unity rather than an ego trip.
I’m thinking of having bumper stickers printed up that say “I’m a proud American liberal.”
Would you put one on your car?
The Shame Game, Sadly, Remains in Vogue (for Now)
Some people say Kamala Harris ran a poor campaign but I didn’t think so. Then again, in retrospect, I think her debate strategy was all wrong. Who were her advisors? Whoever they were, they were all about embarrassing Trump. Getting him to “take the bait,” making him defend himself, inducing him to display his pettiness and insecurity. In a word, to dominate and humiliate him.
I think Vice-President Harris succeeded in doing this. But in doing so, she abdicated the whole game. That is, she implicitly conceded that shame was the game.
Humiliation, domination, and taunting. That’s been Trump’s trademarked game all along. He’s the guy who brought that game, on steroids, to our national politics like never before. So in stepping right into that game during their debate (talking about how people were leaving Trump’s rallies early, how he’d inherited all his riches from his father, and other irrelevant and meaningless – but provocative – stuff like that), Harris was affirming Trump’s game, following his lead, copying him (though relatively faintly, and with more “class”), showing America that she too could be cruel and mocking.
And she wasn’t really demonstrating anything about Trump. I’m convinced that Trump supporters already perceive his self-loathing and shame, consciously or not.
She could have done it differently. I don’t think that was who she really is. Trying to beat the Shame Guy with shame was like trying to out-lie him. (Now that would have been one heck of a debate, huh?)
The Lying Game and Its Opposite
We have a president who lies with no scruples or restraint. Without batting an eye, he can claim that down is up and gruel is gravy and Ukraine invaded Russia first.
Maybe one way of countering the cultural influence of Trump’s nonstop lies is to be mindfully, scrupulously truthful and honest.
Just how genuine and transparent can we be with ourselves and each other?
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