Almost exactly 10 years ago, I worked in a different town for a little loan company , processing loans. The man who owned this company (we'll call him "Jeff," mostly because that was his name) taught me many valuable things, many about people, others about myself. He taught me that even more important than processing people's loans, my real business was connecting to people, sort of like last weeks letter, Zen and the Art of Automobile Maintenance. Among other things, he taught me how to focus under pressure and how to organize around priority. He taught me principles that I've used everyday for a decade. He showed me parts of myself waiting to come out.
Everybody has their Kryptonite. Despite Jeff's shining attributes, he wasn't a very good business person. I grew very concerned the day that my paycheck bounced. When I approached him with this dilemma, he asserted that even though the company was in a little slump, everything would soon be ironed out.
It never was.
When I finally left the company, he owed me about $1,000 in wages--a lot of money for a starving student, right before Christmas, who needed to pay tuition for next semester's classes. Come to think of it, that's a lot of money, period.
I became bitter. I wasn't going to easily let this go. I called the Utah Labor Commission and filed a complaint. They began to subpoena Jeff to arrive in court. The process was unfruitful and painfully slow. I soon realized that I could easily gain my $1,000 back if I were only paid five cents every time I heard the Labor Commission say the phrase, "your file is under review and we'll notify you once we know anything different." This empty search continued for over two . . . (I pause for effect) YEARS. Each new attempt to resurrect my file brought more pain and frustration.
Then I had a dream. I dreamed that I met Jeff. I saw him not as the evil person I'd made him out to be but as just a simple dude with a five-O'clock shadow (that's the way he was in my dream). In my dream, I forgave him of the whole thing. Completely. In my dream, he didn't seemed very thankful or changed, nor did he seem really to even care, but that didn't matter because I had changed. Instead of angry and dark, I was light and free. So, I woke up that next morning let it go. I let it all go.
It took me several years to understand that even though Jeff wasn't a good business person and I had suffered because of it, he still taught me some very valuable things. I began to think that my lost $1,000 was a tuition paid for some very valuable lessons. Unbeknownst to me, my lessons weren't over yet.
I hadn't thought of Jeff and that incident for several years until one day earlier this year when something on the radio jolted my memory of Jeff. I didn't remember so much his faults but all the positive things he taught me. I felt not only complete, but like I'd even grown from the experience. Proud, I said to myself, "If I ever meet Jeff again, I promise that I will vocally forgive him and thank him for what he has taught me."
Something else I've learned: when you call Destiny out for a bare-knuckle brawl, know that she'll come. She'll test you just like you asked her to. She'll give you what you wanted but expect a little more blood--your blood.
Almost exactly an hour later I was relaxing at The Beehive Tea Room, nursing a cup of The Behive Tea RoomRaspberry Mint tea when over my shoulder I heard a disturbingly familiar voice. I didn't have to turn my head to know that it was Jeff. It was 10 years later, a different town, in an entirely different context and I already promised Destiny that I'd forgive him.
I sat there in a cold sweat. Now that it came to it, I didn't know that I go through with it. I hadn't seen him in several years. I'd had even subpoenaed him in court. He started to get up to leave. If I was going to act, it had to be now.
I took a deep breath, stood up, and did it. I reintroduced myself and reminded him how he had hurt me and with a genuine smile, told him, " but you know what? I forgive you." I also explained all the things that I learned from him. He stood there stunned. He didn't know what to say. He made no apologies. He didn't try to explain. He simply told me that I made his day. I made mine, too.
And no, he didn't write me out a check for $1,000.
I learned that intentions are powerful. Our yoga practice is one way to act upon the privilege of dancing with Destiny. With clarity and self-awareness, we can see through the muddy waters toward the lotus.