Come, passion! #2 Sweet and Sour

When I started a new job several years ago, I was introduced to Eileen, with whom I’d be working closely. I was meant to take some of the workload off her shoulders as a whole slew of new responsibilities had been added to her plate. Eileen was a kind, organized and no-nonsense person in her early sixties. Additionally, she was very good at her job. We got along really well right from the start.

It needs to be said that the atmosphere at this job was quite negative. The newspaper industry had changed over the past twenty years; it was no longer a robust business. Many people had been laid off, and the threat of another round of layoffs hung over the newsroom like a tornado waiting to touch down.

Most of the people working in the newsroom were unfriendly. That is not to say that they were fundamentally unfriendly people. What I think is that the doom and gloom of the news cycle, plus the instability of the industry, turned people sour. That sourness permeated the air, and I found it difficult to walk into that atmosphere every day.

Despite the general vibe, I enjoyed the job, and that was because the people with whom I worked the closest were good people. Luckily, I was able to sit with a group of young women who were really lovely. Because of them, I smiled widely and often. We were in a pod of four, and Eileen was in the pod adjacent to me, close enough that we could still work quite effectively with one another.

Eileen and I had a professional but warm relationship, and I respected her quite a bit. She’d been in the industry for many decades and was knowledgeable without being arrogant. Though she was approaching retirement, she was in no rush to go that route quite yet.

We worked in harmony for about a year. During that time, we talked a lot about literature. We recommended books to one another, and when I finished reading Washington Black by Esi Edugyan, I lent it to her after expressing how much I enjoyed it.

Eileen didn’t like Washington Black, and that surprised me as I had found it a rather rich and beautifully written book. She felt the author had left too many loose ends. She wanted more resolutions to some of the smaller storylines. I didn’t have a problem with those particular loose ends, I told her. To me, they felt rather natural, like real life, where we don’t always get to know the answers to all the things.

Our differing opinions on the book were not a big deal to me. After all, she loved Taylor Swift, and I’ve never really cared for her music. We were certainly allowed to have different interests, and I’ve never had an issue debating the pros and cons of a book, all the while respecting another person’s perspective.

Around that same time, we were talking a lot about travelling and the things we loved to do when travelling. Eileen and her husband, I had learned, were rather devout Catholics.

“Paul and I always visit churches when we travel,” she said to me one day. “We find them really fascinating; it’s a tradition for us.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s so interesting,” I replied. “I’ve always found churches rather boring, myself. I mean architecturally. They tend to look the same on the inside. I can think of only two that have really stood out in my mind. One is the basilica in Montmartre. I don’t actually remember the inside of that one, but the location of the church has stayed with me, as well as the viewing platform that gives a wonderful perspective over Paris. There’s this sense of spaciousness there that is quite beautiful. I also love how plain the building is on the outside in comparison to many churches, like Notre Dame, which seem so busy.”

Eileen, like many others, told me that she thought Notre Dame was a more interesting church. I acknowledged that my opinion on this topic was probably not a popular one.

“The other church that has stayed with me is the one in Krakow, in the main square,” I continued. “We weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, but I remember the opulence, the feeling of being in this magical place. So, actually, yeah, I can understand why you and your husband would visit churches. There are a few really beautiful ones out there. I guess I just haven’t had an opportunity to discover many.”

That conversation bled into another one, and we carried on with our work.

Within a few weeks of having had those two discussions, I started to notice that Eileen’s attitude toward me had changed. Whereas before she would greet me open-faced and smiling when I got to work, now she was avoiding eye contact and would only reply to my hellos if I greeted her directly. At first, I thought something was going on in her own life or that she was having a bad day. But then I started to notice that she continued to be her friendly self with my podmates and other co-workers. It was just her interactions with me that had changed.

I didn’t understand what had happened. I tried to engage with her more directly, and more often, addressing her by name so there was no doubt I was speaking to her. She wouldn’t quite ignore me, but she was clearly showing with her body language—and her short, curt responses—that she didn’t want to speak with me.

Her negativity toward me felt like a pulse, waxing and waning based on how much I engaged with her. I decided to pull back, wanting to respect her space. Her emotions were sparking negativity in me, too, and it recycled every time we neared each other. Or, at least, that’s how it felt to me.

I tried to move on, but then a new behaviour started, and that took me aback even more.

I’ve always found it quite odd when someone goes out of their way to exclude someone or treat them differently. It just seems like a lot of energy to single someone out and shun them, but that is what happened.

Being a rather talkative person, I often started conversations with my podmates about random topics, usually things I would read about on the newswire. The four of us would begin a lively conversation and chatter on. Suddenly, though, I noticed Eileen inserting herself into those conversations.

I had always included her in our chats in the past, so I wasn’t opposed to her joining in, but what struck me as odd (and rather unfortunate, actually) was that she would address any and all of my podmates, but deliberately exclude me in the process. I remember thinking:

Uh, this was a conversation I started, lady! If you’re going to join the convo, you should also be talking with me. It’s just common decency.

As a sensitive person, I felt quite hurt by her actions. Still, I said nothing, unsure how to handle things in a respectful and delicate manner.

After a few months of this nonsense—literally, because I could not make sense of it—I brought up Eileen’s change in attitude toward me, with my podmates. They hadn’t noticed it, they told me, but within a few weeks of that conversation, they admitted they saw a clear distinction in how she was treating me versus how she was treating them.

I had initially decided that I would just try to let it go, but once I got confirmation that her behaviour wasn’t merely in my head, I couldn’t ignore it. What stuck with me was the about-face. What was the cause of this switch? I found it very difficult to let things lie without learning this one big thing. I determined, therefore, that if I found myself alone with her one day, I would bring it up.

The definition of compassion, according to Merriam-Webster, is: “sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it.”

I knew that Eileen felt some kind of distress or, at least, I knew something was wrong. She was either angry with me or disappointed in me. Or, I suppose it could have been any of the other negative emotions out there: disgust, resentment, frustration . . .

Regardless of the emotion, I could feel it, and I wanted to alleviate it in whatever way I could.

As a flawed human being, I don’t always get things right, and I admitted to myself that I might have inadvertently said something that had offended her. Did I throw out a careless phrase? Had I shown interest in something that she was fundamentally opposed to or shown dislike for something that she was extremely protective of? I didn’t know what the cause of this sudden distaste was, but I did know that I wanted to find a way to get back to that easier exchange. Showing her compassion for her state of mind seemed the best way to do that.

My opportunity to demonstrate said compassion came in the ladies’ restroom a few weeks later. As I was exiting a stall, she walked in and went into a different one. I took my time washing my hands, waiting for her to exit. When she did, and moved to the sink, I went for it.

“Hey, Eileen,” I said with a small smile. “I’ve noticed that things have changed between us over the past few months. I feel like you might be upset with me, but I don’t know what happened to cause that. If I have done anything to anger or upset you, I’m really sorry. I’d like to know what the issue is so that I can rectify it, if possible. I really don’t want to have any bad feelings between us.”

She had finished washing her hands by then and was drying them with paper towels.

She didn’t quite look at me in the eyes when she said, “There’s nothing wrong.”

The tone with which she said that was very clear. She was lying; I had no doubt about it.

“Are you sure?” I insisted. “I just feel like we had a really nice rapport before, and it’s changed pretty drastically. I’d like to make things right if I can.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” she repeated. “I don’t have a problem with you.”

She made to leave.

“Okay, well thank you for talking with me,” I said, completely deflated.

She left the restroom, and I stood there immobile, tears threatening.

With a bit of self-talk I pulled myself together, aware that tears in the workplace weren’t exactly welcome, and went back into the newsroom.

Several more weeks went by following that bathroom chat. Eileen continued to freeze me out. And you know, what? I accepted it. I didn’t see that there was anything more to do.

Not long after that, we started working from home, and I never saw or spoke to her again.

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Could I have handled things differently . . . better?

Perhaps.

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Do I wish we could have found a way to get past the bad and get good again?

Absolutely.

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Is there anything more I could have done?

Possibly, though I’m not sure what that “more” could have been.

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It’s not lost on me, the irony in one of the last conversations Eileen and I had. She hadn’t liked Washington Black because it had left too many loose ends for her taste. I told her they hadn’t bothered me, and here I was having to live through a loose end that really, truly bothered me.

I was left with the sour aftertaste of a relationship gone wrong and no knowledge of what had caused it to deteriorate. Did I insult her with our discussion on the book (and was she punishing me by not letting me have the answers to our own story)? Or had I inadvertently offended her religious sensibilities with my comments about churches and how I didn’t find them architecturally interesting? Or maybe it was a completely different issue. It could have been one thing that happened, or it could have been a combination of things. I really don’t know.

The abrupt end to our relationship was rather difficult for me because Eileen had seemed like someone who was quite rational, someone who didn’t back down from tough discussions. It was disappointing and hurtful that she had refused to address the issue and reach some kind of resolution.

But, at the end of the day, here’s the thing:

• You cannot force someone to like you.
• You cannot force someone to want to resolve an issue.
• You cannot force someone to show you compassion.

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The Dalai Lama says:

If you want others to be happy, practise compassion. If you want to be happy, practise compassion.

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I’ll never know what Eileen’s issue with me was, nor will I know why she chose to hold on to those negative feelings toward me, but I can say this:

I still like Eileen. She is a cool person who has a wealth of knowledge. For more than a year, she and I worked really well together, and she was really lovely to me. And even after that ended between us, I saw how lovely she continued to be with those around me, and that’s a beautiful thing.

I tried my best to show Eileen some compassion and fix our broken pieces.

It didn’t work out.

So, instead, I decided to show myself compassion. I gave myself some grace about it all because at the end of the day, all I can do is try . . . and continue to love myself through it, regardless of the outcome.

Until next time.

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Check out more pieces on compassion via my Substack.

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