An email exchange turned violent word slinging with a family member recently resulted in me seeking the advice of my attorney. I printed off all the documents from my sent and inbox, retrieved historical data to support my case, and sat patiently primed as my attorney reviewed my evidence. As I waited for him to read, I became an Emily version of Erin Brockovich. Dressed in the attire of Wonder Woman, I was poised to uncover hidden truths and right all of mankind against evil doers. Several sleepless nights and lots of hurtful words had caused my hallucinogenic state where I fantasized yelling things such as, “You can’t handle the truth,” just like Jack Nicholson, in “A Few Good Men.”
My wise, country attorney, a man who grows bonsai and rages against technology, pushed back from his table after reading my papers and asked in his slow, southern drawl, “So, why are you at an attorney’s office?”
I was rattled and stumped by his question. He was supposed to be making copious notes and calling in witnesses. Why was he challenging my intentions? Instead, he gently deflated my vision and lowered my ErinBrockovichWonderWomanJackNicholson self back into reality. I answered honestly, with a little shake in my voice, “I want to make her be quiet.”
He leveled his gaze at me and said, “Emily, there is nothing we can do to make her be quiet, just like there is nothing we can do to make her be happy.” I translated his answer into “Ahhh, Grasshopper, you cannot change another if she does not have the desire to be different.”
He then went on to tell me a parable about a wisteria vine. The vine had been on his father’s property for decades. Its trunk had grown to be thick, tree-like. That wisteria vine was something my attorney and his father enjoyed watching and discussing. It was the closest his father got to growing bonsai and the connection was a meaningful link between the two men.
After the father’s death, my attorney’s brother took a chainsaw and cut down that vine under the heading of “cleaning up the place.” I asked my attorney why? Was it jealousy? He wasn’t sure. I asked if he was angry. Of course. I asked what happened after that. He said that the earth kept turning.
But what would you do? Try to force him plant a new one? Stay mad at him forever? Acknowledge that you might never understand another’s motives, experience the hurt, and then move forward seems to be the prescription that my attorney followed.
It is tough to realize that we don’t own the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but rather, as Susan Scott states in Fierce Conversations, we own “our little piece of the truth.” And our truth, even if it is black and white right, with no foggy gray areas or doubt, is flawed with perceptions, past experiences, running through an imperfect filtering system clogged with brain and emotion.
While I had a case for slander and the means by which to attempt to quiet my kin, to what end? All I was doing was feeding the bears of anger, resentment, and entitlement. I can’t change her. I can only change myself, and that, changing myself, a person over whom I have complete control, is hard as hell.
There are moments when we want justice. If justice is sounded out phonetically, it is “just-us.” Hmmmm. Perhaps the world wants mercy for themselves and justice for others? Maybe that is “just us” wanting to inflict our truth onto everyone else. A courtroom ruling isn’t going to make my relative see things my way. Threatening emails aren’t going to make me see things her way. This is a place where truths don’t and probably won’t ever overlap.
Perhaps the secret to changing the world is to change you, improved upon if you then blaze a trail by modeling what is right and good. In changing yourself, you might change the dynamics and ultimately (hopefully) change the outcome. But even if you don’t change the outcome, rest assured that you have been successful because you changed yourself.
It also helps to find a good, country attorney who can counsel you with sage wisdom and offer parables to comfort your soul.