The vulnerability of outrage
Have you ever felt an intense sense of indignation? You want to grab a bullhorn to rail against the outrage you feel and then there is nothing you can do about it. So, bullhorn in hand, you rush to join the stage with the same clowns who have been trampling your trust and sadly realize you are now even more vulnerable because effectively you have joined their circus.
Curses!
You allow yourself to be vulnerable to another person’s concept of fairness.
You allow yourself to be vulnerable when protecting your child.
You allow yourself to be vulnerable to hints of largess by people who offer no means of delivery.
So much vulnerability exists and so little time.
Oh, and I have a knee jerk reaction to someone asking: Rachel, why do these things happen to you? No, no, I do not like this question. There are no answers, themes, centralizing energies around what happens to me – good, bad or indifferent. [Unless it’s all lollipop goodness than, yes, of course, the trend is my friend.] But when I am vulnerable to someone’s venality or manipulation, no, I don’t have answers for why people do what they do or why or if I attract these types of people. The same questions could arise at why I attract wonderful people who are generous and kind.
Last year, in Oxford, The Oliver Hotel completely wronged me – they raised their room rate from $140 to $1800 for a reservation I made months in advance and then cancelled all my reservations for the next three months when I balked. Customer service – no ma’am. At their mercy, vulnerable, I found other places to stay – The Treehouse Gallery and Fox Fire Ranch and my friend’s brother’s brand new condo – so many good places appeared from The Oliver’s greed. So many silver linings and memories for a lifetime.
This year, a friend of a friend with a Tucson Air BnB said she’d rent to me off platform for my January and February visits. When she text me that the roofers would be there my entire stay in January, I said, ok, I understand, even though I knew roofers banging all day would disrupt my tranquility and writing time.
WHOOSH, out of the blue, a rare Southeastern snow storm blanketed the south the likes of which haven’t been seen since 1963; the storm cancelled all flights; I couldn’t fly out from any location. Oh no, trusting this friend of a friend, I had paid her in full for my stay.
Her response, “You didn’t book on Airbnb.”
Ah, the vulnerability of trust, so easily eroded.
The vulnerability of outrage, so easily exposed.
I’m leaning into my propensity for silver linings with new rules:
– never pay all of your money up front
– friends of a friend are not your friend
– don’t accommodate other people’s problems (roofers), because
they will not accommodate yours (extreme weather event)
– there are always silver linings
