Categories: uncategorized
Date: 14 November 2006 13:46:03
I moved rooms.
Along with two other friends we'd rented a flat for just over a year and had decided that the flat was big enough to squeeze an extra person in and, consequently (and most importantly) reduce our rent by a quarter. The largest room in the flat had a sofa bed in it and was, we thought, big enough for two people to share. And the flatmate who had that room had an old friend from school who was looking for somewhere to stay, so it all seemed to fit together perfectly. Except that after not many weeks the original flatmate was being driven up the wall by the new flatmate. And he begged me to swap rooms. Now I really don't like sharing rooms - I almost have a phobia about it and was fairly adamant early on that I wouldn't be prepared to share. I probably made that a condition of getting an extra flatmate - I didn't mind an extra body in the flat as long as he wasn't in my room. So I said yes. Without any hint of hesitation I agreed straightaway. I could see that my flatmate (and best friend as he was at the time) was at the end of his tether and although I could see that I'd be putting myself in the situation that drove him up the wall (it was and is still pretty clear that the difficulties were all down to the new flatmate being hard to live with, not just a simple personality clash), and I hated sharing rooms, I didn't even think of saying no.
I've often wondered why, and why I often do the equivalent - if someone asks me to do something (or pass up the opportunity to do something I want) then I'll usually just shrug and go "ok" without pausing. There are so many ways you can look at this. Maybe I'm just incredibly kind (you can't see my eyebrow almost going into orbit as I write this, or the vicious sarcasm with which I typed that, but trust me it's there). Maybe it's pride - I want to be seen to be doing nice things and known as someone who is kind, and it's worth sacrificing things for that reputation. Maybe it's one aspect of my faith that actually is vibrant and alive - I do these things trusting, knowing even, that things will work out, that God will take care of things (not necessarily making it all perfect, but at least giving me the forbearance to get through it). Maybe it's the reality that I know from experience that if I refuse, and stick to what I myself want to do, that things won't work out - that'll I be left with a bitter taste in my mouth and that I'll regret my selfishness. At the moment I tend to a more nihilist version of that reason - that it simply makes no difference. If I do this, or if I do that, then it's not likely to make life better or worse - or more or less bearable - it simply isn't going to change anything for me so why bother. (I probably read Camus at too influential an age, or maybe it was the fact that the pretty French teacher we had at school raved about him).
Whatever the reasons the outcome is the same. I said yes then (and I survived, although six months later I unofficially moved out and slept on someone else's couch) and I'd say yes again. And if you ask me to do you a favour I'll probably say yes to that too, but you'll be left wondering just exactly why I've agreed. Just as I will be.