Including The Lessons We Learn

I call it the "can't see the forest for the trees," syndrom. And I'm sure you have run into or know people who fit this profile. These are the ones who continually take...without giving back. All they can see is what they want...and sometimes that wanting is at the expense of others.

It's basically them using someone to gain what they want...and it doesn't involve being grateful. But these same people are also not aware of cause and effect. But when the only thing on their minds is themselves...I seriously don't think they would know when they are reaping what they sowed.

It's sad, but true. Being grateful doesn't fill all of our hearts...and it has to fill our hearts in order for it to fill our thoughts. When it fills our thoughts, then it will fill our actions toward others as well as our blessings from God.

Being grateful should be a strong factor in our lives. Going through life receiving and taking without being thankful makes us selfish and self-centered. I often wonder if being this way truly makes them happy.

So the moral of the story is help others to the best of your abilities...but don't allow yourself to be used. How will you know? Because they won't be grateful or appreciate your kindness and generosity. Instead, they will exhibit an attitude of "you owe" me.

It was a fine morning, warm and sunny, as I set out for my usual walk to the park with my young boxer dog in tow. We have our daily ritual of walk and off leash playtime for her at the park, sometimes meeting other like-minded animal owners. I have met many people around the neighborhood in just such a fashion. On this particular day, a woman of about my age was walking her pug and we struck up a conversation.

“Susan” had recently moved to the area, knowing no one, and hoping to find a decent job in the area to afford the high rents that come with living in SoCal, close enough to the beaches to enjoy a near-perfect year round climate. We became casual acquaintances in the months following our first introduction, she visited once at my home, with dog, for a drink.

The ups and downs of her temporary employment, my fits and starts into finding a suitable work-at-home job and being a single, over 50 female in suburbia were common threads of existence. Our dogs were amicable, if mismatched friends. At one point, we got to together for a girls’ night out with another dog-owner friend. Not the closest friendship, but a bit closer than mere hi-how-are-you friendliness.

One day, after not hearing much from her in several months time, “Susan” called in dire straits. She needed to move, immediately, due to a drastic breakdown in the relationship between the people whose home she was renting a room from and herself. She wanted to come over and explain.

I invited her over and listening to her sad state of affairs about how the knuckle-dragging redneck that owned the house was making her life miserable. Apparently, his right wing politics and her left-leaning ones had bumped head to head over time and he was reduced to sarcasm and a nasty confrontational attitude with her.

“Susan” had given the wife checks to cover the back rents, that she would make good on in the weeks to come as her act of good faith in repayment. But still, the husband was giving her such a hard time and was basically rude.

At the end of her sorry story, I offered that, right or wrong, a man’s house is his castle and he is entitled to feel anyway he chooses. A person does not want to come home and be attacked under his own roof for his beliefs. I declined comment on the fact that she’d been indebted to them for their patience in her inability to pay the rent.

I assured her that I did not share those sentiments and that the most important thing for me is to have a peaceful and harmonious household. I do not tolerate stress at home.

I told her that I was looking for a good tenant, but that I needed to charge some $600. per month for my room, to cover my expenses. And another thing, my son does appear on the occasional weekend with his two pit bulls, and she might not think this a very good arrangement for her small pug.

She was insistent that this would be only for a couple of weeks until she could find a more suitable place closer to the job she now had secured, some fifty miles away.

I told her she could stay for $100. a week, given that it was a short-term deal, knowing that she was struggling financially. After moving in, a got the first notion all was not so well when she told me she’d expected me to just let her stay for free.

Our next stage of friendship was to begin on not the best foot when my still-a-puppy boxer (at 1 ½ years) chewed some of her shoes which had been left in her closet, doors open. Patent leather is just too much temptation, I suppose, in a dog’s view.

The two weeks rolled into months, “Susan” still paying only $l00. per week, by the week, not a month at a time. When I told her that she was not allowed to use my washer and dryer (older appliances whose life span is somewhat suspect) she acted as if I had never mentioned it, and used them anyway. I let it slide for awhile.

“Susan” pitched in, without my asking on a particularly hellish job: hand carrying buckets of water out of the pool that the submersible pump would not complete. It took hours, and it was heavy work.

Someone suggested to me that I hire some day laborers to do such work, and smiling, told them I had nothing better to do. I spent days hand scrubbing and cleaning the walls of the pool and was more grateful than can be imagined to have had any help. The laundry issue seemed like a fair trade.

Finally, after 2 ½ months, she found a place to move, five minutes from her job. We had a good bye dinner, and she was happy to be moving, saving yet more money on an expensive commute. I was a little sad, for by now, we had gotten to be friends.

The Saturday morning when she left, her entire belongs packed into two carloads, I wished her well and gave her a fond hug goodbye. I had my many chores to do and the day wasn’t getting any younger.

In less than 3 hours, I had another phone call from Susan, furious and upset, and homeless, again. It seems that the woman who just the night before had given her a house key was now reneging on the deal, due to the fact that her mother suddenly needed to move in because of some health-related issues.

I said, well, at least you know you have somewhere to go back to, but left out the part that the deal would not be the same as when she’d left.

I had arranged another tenant to take the room and was planning on getting the rent value for the room, though I had not as yet met with him. He was coming by the first of the week to see the space.

Susan had enough anger to fuel her up and back to the hoped-for condo two times that afternoon retrieving her belongings that she’d left on the woman’s doorstep. It must’ve been close to dark when she finally was resettled back into her room, in no mood for any conversation. I believe she drank her dinner that night.

Hoping that the following day would be a better day, a new start, I waited to let her know what rents I would be expecting. It seems that the new day had not brought much resolution to her present frame of mind, the dark cloud of “the unfairness of it all” hung heavy over her face, soured and scowling.

I tried to be pleasant. After all, it had been a pretty lousy situation, but still I felt I had contributed quite enough to helping her out in my own fashion.

I told her I would have to be raising the rent to a more “market value” price of $500. per month, no utilities, but no laundry privileges.

She shrieked and ranted, slammed things down, kicked the dog and generally behaved like a shrew. I turned and closed the door, leaving her in her own bile. She now wouldn’t speak to me, and treated me as if I wasn’t present when she entered the house, even though I’d be sitting at my computer right inside the front door and fully visible.

It has been nearly a month now, and she is behind on her rent, and tells me she plans on leaving at the end of the month. We’ll see.

My son whom I haven’t seen in a couple months was coming down for the weekend, with the dogs. Another tirade, letters written, shieking and screaming about her being “displaced” from her room that she is entitled to enjoy, and more drama than I’ve witnessed since my kids were in high school.

Harmony and peace are tentatively dangling, just out of reach. Fear of pit bulls is this “unfairness of it all” issue. I guess she’d forgotten that was part of the original hesitation on my part for letting her stay.

The people in the office where I’m now gainfully employed, ask me regularly how the “room mate” is doing, shaking their heads in disbelief at the stories I’ve told them. You never really know someone until you live with them, and then, it’s too late.

You are caught up in the drama of petty issues and hurt feelings and cold wars, or door slamming and you’re left wondering how did this all go so badly?

No good deed goes unpunished, one of my favorites, comes to mind. Never mind, I’ve added up the rent monies I’ve saved her, not to mention pet deposits and security deposits and utilities that other landlords charge, and try not to feel taken advantage of for helping someone out in their time of need.

It was the right thing to do, I am grateful I was in a position to help, if not very much in her eyes.

But most of all, I feel sad for her: she has never expressed, nor been grateful since the time that she moved into my home; that her life is a string of woeful tales of how things just never work out. Poor little me, I think I’ll go eat worms.

At the start of every day, and hopefully before I collapse asleep at night, I am so very, very, very grateful for all that the day brings, both the “good” and the “bad”, for what are these but our very own perceptions?

Truth is, the bad things teach you the most and create a vivid emotional response that you don’t soon forget, while the good or pleasant things pass by like a lovely parade, soon out of sight. Learning to avoid the difficult or unpleasant situations comes, for me, a little later than most A Lesson In Gratitude By Nancy Nylent, I must admit. Gratitude is a learned response.

But now, at long last, I think I’m getting the hang of this life I’ve been given. Every day is such a blessing that I am truly grateful for whatever comes my way, even ungrateful roommates with pugs.

Go From Being Grateful For All To Showing Gratitude