I know in my heart that ‘I cannot promise’ and ‘No’ is worth saying
Spiritual topsy-turvydome is released when you pull its ugly nose and rejoice at the universal lack of activity.
Of late, I witnessed an urgent need to educate myself in all the riff-raffs of the art of promising nothing.
We were married for only a year, and we were comic in a tragedy of our incongruities. I was all the unconscious and elementary promising and planning. He was an utter superiority in relaxation, passionate leisure, and relief.
My husband needed to get clear of the whole poisonous atmosphere of ‘must-s’ and ‘have to-s’. He wanted to say “I don’t know” to any question involving the exact timing of any activity.
“Your talk is a torrent of nonsense, love, you and I can change our minds whenever and whatever reason might be or with no reason,” I could trace curious hilarity in his voice.
“But, hun, we planned this vacation with my sister’s family for three months now. It will upset them no end if we decide not to go.”
We both dreaded the occasion because by that time we realized that we would hate my sibling and her husband if we spent together over three days, not talking about a fortnight.
My husband offered to have a wonderful two-week retreat instead.
The vacation was fantastic.
My sister couldn’t toss away her wounded pride. She didn’t talk to me for almost six weeks.
I said to my coworker I loved kids, and she asked me with so much feeling in her eyes to watch her two-year-old a couple of evenings a month.
A mischievous two-year-old boy changed this rosy picture.
I was forced without pussyfooting around to say,
“I cannot devote another hour of my life to this laborious task of taking care of your sweet boy. He pulled my hair, broke every smashable thing in my house, and stealing my pen, left his immortal art on my walls.”
The truth is, I should have told her right away that I love kids in general and seldom get well with a particular child one on one.
“You see, I didn’t notice at the time of my comfort or discomfort.”
“I said I will take care of it while she is away with her boyfriend.”
He almost roared,
“It is much worse than that. You didn’t notice MY comfort. I have an allergy. Do you want me to swallow pills now for an entire week? Why didn’t you even think to call me and ask first?”
I responded,
“She was so insistent and agitated. I felt somewhat confused. I will call her right away and tell her I couldn’t be of help.”
My friend was rightfully drowning her disappointment in complete indifference.
We lost intimacy in our conversations and only much later regained it fully back.
On another occasion, I had a horrid headache but had a line on my schedule that I couldn’t crisscross.
My girlfriend had a baby shower that evening and I was an honored guest.
I swallowed a painkiller and went, but had to go away in the middle of the fun.
My husband’s speech was incurably tragic,
“What the deuce did you go? You have no end of a head on your shoulders, love, but you are quite incompetent for simply doing nothing. Why the internal blazes should you want to please everyone?”
I admitted,
“I just was thinking how upset she would be with me if I didn’t go. You don’t know how I’m tired of always thinking how to make everybody happy and forgetting about myself.”
I attempted to smile, but my grin suddenly went wrong and I bust out with tears of self-pity.
My husband always had that daring disregard of public opinion.
“You should take no notice of what others think about you. Put yourself first, love. You’ll have more happiness for us if you save yourself from constantly making others happy.”
“Oh, you are preaching to me again,” whispered I with the right smile this time and the right kiss that followed it.
I prepared myself for a plunge into cold waters of hesitative “I cannot promise” and definite “No.”
I always lived more for others than for myself.
I promised things in a bantering way, only to discover later on that it put me and my family in all the turvydome of inconveniences.
I positively agreed to take my niece to her karate class every Wednesday.
The polite answer would’ve been a magic “I cannot promise.”
I told my girlfriend I will edit her papers.
I should’ve used the same doubtful “I cannot promise.”
I lent money, which was often my only means for paying bills and buying food, to help my super stylish girlfriend buy new designer shoes, dresses, and jewelry.
The simplest solution was to give her my explicit “No.”
I discovered the gratified satisfaction of promising nothing and getting no one upset.
There is a hungry, wolfish look about a person striving for approval from everybody.
You are born to experience the world and adore your ineffable presence in it—not to please others.
Recognize your own capacity and feel the paternal protectiveness of hesitative “I don’t know,” “I cannot promise,” and straightforward “No” that makes you the master of your life.
Olya Aman 