Pride

Here I sit alone on the day after Christmas, as is custom. The neighborhood lights spill into the dark living room, forming a gentle aura like that of a cozy dream. Slumped half sideways against the loveseat armrest, as my knuckles push up on my cheek, I can’t help but reflect. How many years has it been since I spent Christmas with my wife’s family? She and I eat together on Christmas day, then she goes south and spends time with her family for the next few days. I came the first couple times, but her brother was quick to clash, so naturally I defended myself. The year after it was her father. The year after that I was alone, and have been since. Better alone than with her brother, I guess.

I have no family here, either. I never got along with them anyway. In fact, it was my choice to move here, so far away from them. It was refreshing at first - the feeling of independence, of autonomy, of freedom. Although, since my retirement, I find myself dissatisfied with the isolation unlike ever before. I took pride in the solitude, now I find within it a sadness I can’t place. I guess I needed the interaction from work. I’ve always seemed to drift from friends whom I no longer had any involuntary reason to see. High school, then university, then the first job, then the second. They ended and with them my friendships. So much for that.

I wonder if the lack of friendship and family would still bother me if my father hadn’t died - if I didn’t get that taste of family that I’ve been missing for years. It was around this time last year, I think. Yes, that’s right, he said he was glad to get one last Christmas. I went to see him as he passed. It had been so long since I’d seen the family that I had to leave soon after he passed to ease the awkward air they had around me. It’s okay, I can grieve alone, and I think they could grieve better without me. I do wish the situation was better, though.

Dad was a classic old person, in my books. Shameless and full of jest. He had a strange skill to make me feel embarrassed, ashamed. His jokes poked at my pride. Usually when one pokes at your pride, you can counter with a shot at theirs, but that falls flat against one without pride. All that you can do is feel embarrassed.

I seem to remember embarrassments aplenty these days. The time I answered something stupid in high school and everybody laughed; the time I got swept up with the mood and, with the family, shot verbal jabs at my sister until she cried; the time I pushed my brother off the piano stool and he broke his arm when I was just six. Those, and no meager volume of stupid, little things. I try assuage them with my standard: ‘I’m different now, I’m better’; ‘It doesn’t matter since I won’t do it again’. I guess it doesn’t work, since they always come back. I wonder, does everyone feel as much shame as this?

I guess I had some insecurities when I was younger - that’s the era where the shame seems to come from. I wanted to be liked. To be strong. To be cool. To be competent. I was insecure about my weight. About my hair. About my grades. But now I’m not. Now I have pride. I stopped looking for recognition and started being happy with just myself.

But it’s not only embarrassments I remember. My unpleasant memories from after university are entirely those of anger. That time my boss way overloaded me; when the airline refused my refund; when I lost my first real job because the market dropped suddenly. I was wronged, there’s no assuaging that.

Did Dad have memories like that? I guess not, he would have no concept of shame. His natural state is as bad as the things I’m ashamed of. He would never feel wronged, the strange man, he would probably assume it was his fault. Ah, hold on, that doesn’t sit right. I actually consider that a virtue, I think. Being happy with just oneself, taking responsibility and putting the onus on oneself. That’s a good thing. So those moments of anger…

Wait, wait, wait. That character in the show I’m watching. The comic relief one. He’s similar. No pride. Shameless. Utterly happy. Shit.

What am I angry at? My boss overloaded me? No, I couldn’t handle it. The airline? I actually did submit the request a little late. The market? I could have set myself up better. These are plainly my fault. My anger is at… myself?

But I’m not insecure. I’m plenty prideful. Yeah, so, I mean, unless… Unless pride isn’t security. Maybe confidence and pride are further removed than I thought. Shit, let’s see. I started being prideful when I stopped being insecu…

Ah.

I see it now.

My pride is a manifestation of my insecurity, not a resolution to it. Damn it. Damn it. So that’s why the shame still comes up - I never resolved my insecurities. My pride is a shield. Not just to others, to myself. I don’t want to see how little I am, I can’t handle it. Dad, is that why you poked my pride so much? Is that why my friends drifted away? Why I don’t have any family? Why I’m alone on Boxing Day and have been for years? Damn it. It’s all been my fault?

Would the shame go away if instead I said ‘Well, I am prone to mistakes, after all.’ Would that work? Would the anger go away?

Ah! I don’t want to believe it, but I can feel it. That distinct feeling of realization when you know you’re right. Like your intuition, or a greater subconscious, or God, or something has bestowed upon you the truth and you must accept it.

So then, it’s my fault. My pride, borne of insecurity, has left me alone, ashamed, and angry. Damn. Her family will never find it comfortable around me. I’ve lost years with my own family, and I disturbed their grieving. I’ve lost my friends, who may have never been proper friends anyway, with the shield and all. And the past can’t be changed. I can’t go back. God, why couldn’t I have realized this earlier?

Mountains! Mountains of evidence! That’s what it took for me to see this. The very universe converged upon my living room tonight with the purpose of teaching me this. That’s what it took. If the realization won’t make me humble, the fact that I required this kind of divine intervention for such a fundamental concept is plenty humbling itself. Though the doors of the past are locked, I can still doff this blindfold and take the doors that remain with whatever life I have left. Maybe I can give that in return to the universe.

Thus I sat alone, now straightened, on the day after Christmas. In the aftermath my mind was clear. I stared blankly and peacefully at the dreamy haze around me. Some of the neighbors had shut off their lights, and the dream seemed to dim. Yes, the dream dimmed, and reality brightened.