Dear Amy: This year several people from my past have contacted me to ask for forgiveness.
The first letter was from two dormmates writing jointly to apologize for their hurtful behavior. I went to these two women for emotional support, believing them to be friends, only to be bluntly told that neither of them liked me and that they associated with me only because they assumed I would help them with their papers or research projects.
I changed dorms at the end of the academic year and never spoke to either of them again. It has been almost 40 years.
The second letter was another college friend who contacted me in 2008, and we started phoning and e-mailing. "Call me anytime to talk," she said. One night I did, and she exploded, screaming that I had interrupted her nightly wine and crafting time and yelling that we had nothing in common because I am not married, a homeowner or a crafter and telling me to leave her alone forever. I complied.
I read both of these letters carefully and decided my response would be to shred them. These three women are bad memories, and why they sought, need or want my forgiveness after so many years is a mystery to me.
I do not want any further contact with them. To err is indeed human, to forgive might be divine, but forgiveness is also optional.
Amy says: I believe that the experience and isolation of the pandemic — as well as the simple march of time — has caused a lot of people to reflect on their choices.
You don't say how these women expressed themselves, but these entreaties seem like demands. In my experience, the fullest form of forgiveness is not arrived at as the response to a demand. (I also think it's possible that Ms. Wine and Crafting is working one of the 12-steps.)
I completely understand your reaction, but I do think you owe these people your gratitude. Their out-of-the-blue bids for forgiveness have given you the final word.
Food for thought
Dear Amy: My husband and I were transferred from the Midwest to the East Coast 10 years ago.
While we appreciate the fine-dining experiences available in our new location, there are certain comfort foods carried by mom-and-pop restaurants and carry-outs that we miss. When we return to the Midwest, we want to revisit these places.
The problem is our friend "Annie." She inserts herself into our plans and always insists that we dine at the expensive places where she would rather go.
How do we avoid these conflicts — short of not informing her when we are in town?
Amy says: This isn't about cuisine. This is about you being able to assert your wishes when someone else asserts theirs.
Try telling Annie this: "We could eat 'fancy' one night, but we're excited to revisit our favorite comfort foods the rest of the time."
Send questions to Amy Dickinson at askamy@amydickinson.com.
