Embracing Interdependence
My life works best when I am indebted to someone.
--
I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. I try to relax my body, sensing what is coming. I wait, patiently, in anticipation, until... SLAP A sharp burning. It hurts. Pain. Pain runs rampant across my cheek. I look up to the person who slapped me and say: "Thank you." Onlookers might look at this bizarre scene and think I've lost a "Slap Bet" or derive pleasure from it. I wish that were true.
I have my best friend, Turan, slap me each time I break a promise. Being the gentle soul he is, he always tries to go easy on me—a big mistake. For him, this means he has to slap me multiple times until I'm satisfied with the result. Handing out a free "slap pass" was never meant to repay my debt to him. It's my way of showing commitment.
I like to imagine that in that brief exchange, excruciating pain combined with guilt would stop me from ever breaking a promise again. Each slap, though painful, acts as a reminder -- I carry the memories of those slaps as a shield against complacency.
The only people to whom I ever promise anything are those whose love or respect for me is apparent.
I haven't been slapped for 6 months.
--
Saturday morning. I woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed. I looked at the clock and could see why. 11:02 AM. 3 missing calls. Sigh. My treacherous alarm had failed me once again. The club meeting was scheduled for 10 AM.
When I came in the next day, my mentor did something I never expected he would, yet something I desperately needed -- He scolded me. I was dumbstruck. Why was he yelling at me? We weren't running short on deadline or anything, and he still had other members to work with. Perhaps he had a fight with his wife and was just projecting?
And then it hit me. -- he saw through my lethargy. He cares. It was my wake-up call. want the people who believe in me to also have an option of being disappointed at me.
I haven't skipped a single practice since.
--
2014, on a frosty New Year's Eve, I stood there with my mother, looking out at the vibrant city lights. We've just moved to a new apartment, and my mother was stoked. Believing the new apartment to be the clear source of my mother's newfound happiness, I looked at her with my cute, baby eyes and told her: "Mama, when I grow up, I'll buy you a mansion."
A mansion! Could you believe it? Like she was some oligarch or royalty! Any other adult would laugh and shrug it off. My mother didn't. As I looked into her (now) teary eyes, she pulled me closer and said: "I am sure you will." It was now my turn to cry.
There was no hint of irony in her voice, no "child talk" either. She believed in me. Do I really have a right to wuss out?
--
As long as there is a person to whom I can promise a mansion, a person who may feel let down by my shortcomings, and a person willing to slap the crap out of me, I will never cower away from any responsibility.
It shows me that they care. It shows me that I am important to them. In turn, it makes me want to work harder for them.
I don't want to just APPEAR special to them, I want to BE special for them. When they choose to put their trust in me, I want to give them a darn good reason for it.