Amen

This will be my first confession since, well, maybe 50 years. Born, baptized and bored silly from 16 years of schooling under the constant heat of the Roman Catholic ideal, by the time I left the structure of scripture for the liberal community college scene, formal confessions were a thing of the past. No more Hail Marys or Our Fathers for this freebird. 

Please do not think that I have never offered up a mea culpa or two along the rocky path of my personal evolution, far, far from it. I have done, arguably, more penance than even the most devout Christian. Anyone who has made the metaphysically theological leap from Catholicism to Buddhism, knows that penance is just another word for forgiveness, mainly forgiveness of self. Sure there is a ‘justice’ element, the instant karma we all appreciate, retribution and the making a wrong right, but overall any successful act of contrition needs to include some form of ancillary awareness, a brutally honest assessment of what happened and why. Then, most importantly, comes the hard part, the vow to make the necessary corrections and learn the lessons that precipitated the ‘sin’ in the first place. 

After the incident on Saturday, I spent that evening and all day yesterday in deep, sincere introspection trying to get at the heart of why I responded so out of character to a rather mundane situation. The guy upstairs was making too much noise. That is all. I exploded like all the guns into space. Got in the guy’s face and read the riot act to him. NOT VERY PROFESSIONAL. 

Fast forward to this morning where I have two classes, an 0530 and an 0845 - and the bosses are back from their European vacation. I am going to hear about the incident. I am prepared (as a result of my time together with my client) to offer my resignation. I am guilty. I have committed a gross misdemeanor and deserve punishment. The Hawaiian gods are not sending any aloha this time. 

I am in the parking lot after the first class heading to the Honda. The bosses pull up and we have a brief chat about France. They know. Of course they know. After the second class I ask Boss Two to take a walk with me into the indoor cycling room, the House of Mirth, directly underneath a kick boxing class led by none other than THAT GUY. He started his session while we had about 15 minutes remaining in ours. It was loud down there, the walls were shaking. She said she would look into it. OK, good enough for me.

Down the hallway and past Boss One and I grab a chair in her office and smile. I heard, she says. Can I give you my side, I ask. If you like. Blah, blah and some exposition and variations on a theme by blah. I apologize to her for losing my cool in the heat of battle and she looks at me and says:

‘The thing that makes you such an asset and the type of one-of-a-kind instructor that we value is…that…you…are…an… asshole.’

‘Yeah, well, I like to call it attitude, but all day yesterday as I was searching for a solution, I came to the realization that I have always been thusly afflicted, so I am asking forgiveness for that too.’

‘We are looking for solutions, thanks for your candor and honesty.’

The secret, the lesson, the meaning and the tactic was left unsaid. We all know what it is. Penance in the form of growth. I don’t need any formal absolution other than heeding the advice taken from yesterday’s visit to my inner confessional. 

DON’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN. 

Amen.