Everyone is born with a gift, I've been told (by people old enough to know better and young enough to lie anyway, of course).  But I believe it to be true.   My life partner says that the thing you love most about someone is what will also drive you craziest in your relationship with them.  I believe this is true, too.   In my case, I think my gift is also double-edged.  Every time I'm reminded of it, I want to curse, more than be grateful.

My gift, of which I was reminded today, is to be a sponge for the angst of others, particularly those I like.  Empathy, you say.  Right.  It is empathy.  I feel their angst.  This is a good thing, right? This empathy thing? Wrong, mostly, in my experience.

We had been invited some time ago to a barbeque, to be hosted by a former colleague of my life partner's.  The former colleague, I'd discovered at a similar event last summer, was married to a local playwright, whose work and company I enjoy a great deal.  But between then and now, they've separated.  As they have two children, to whom they are equally devoted, she has moved into a nearby town (they live in the country), into an apartment where the children and assorted pets can spend time with her regularly.

We expected that she would not be there.  Which was a major blow to me, when I'd realized it, as I have little to say to computer geeks who share nothing else in the way of interests.  What's more, I can't understand anything they are saying, so I can't even learn anything by listening.  Nonetheless, I knew what I was getting into -- geek-babble in the country.  I could handle that -- not well, you understand, but I could handle it.

I found out earlier this week that the playwright wife would be there.  She'd called to ask if she could borrow my portable CD-ROM drive, which works on her laptop and mine, so that she could load a new printer driver from a CD. Sure, I said.   Could I bring it Sunday?  Sunday?, I asked.  Sunday, she said; you know, to the barbeque.  Oh. Sure, I can do that. She said, "You know we're separated, right?"  I said, "Yes, I do.  I didn't expect you'd be there Sunday, though I'm delighted you will be!"  She let on as her ex had done something particularly sweet for her earlier in the week, and she felt that it was only fair ro be present for this barbeque to return the favour.

With that kind of set-up, I was anticipating an "interesting time".  You know.  As in the curse: "May you live in interesting times."  Uh-huh.  But I was reassured that they were entirely civil to each other, and there would be no tension. Ha!

Maybe there was no tension to the less-gifted person.  My life partner, for example, commented afterward that they'd seemed so comfortable with each other.  I knew better. I left that barbeque simmering with rage.  At whom? I wasn't sure, but I could guess. Because it wasn't my rage; it was hers. 

Having left a husband once, even without the complication of children we co-parented, I know the combination of emotions that result: relief, anger, frustration, resentment, liberation.  But these feelings today with weren't echoes or reincarnations of my old feelings.  They were hers!  Ah, what a gift.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I like being able to relate to others, and to understand what they are feeling. But I don't need to feel it! I have enough feelings of my own! And what am I to do with all this empathy? Well, it's not like I can do anything to ease the pain for anyone else.  That I share the burden does not lessen theirs.  It's not like I can change the situation that caused the pain in the first place.  And hell.. it's not my pain anyway!

Well, I suppose all emotions eventually leak out, leaving an empty space behind, waiting to be filled by a new emotion.  And this one will to.   And when it's gone, then I can get back to one of my own feelings.  I think my feelings will be easier to bear than these I have shared today because of "the gift".

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