That for which we are thankful

I had a crush once on a guy who I helped stage manage a play during the spring of my senior year in high school. His name was Torrey, and, in looking back, I recognize now that he was just one of many not-so-sane and exceptionally dismal men I’ve been attracted to. He flaked out on work—both things that paid and things that didn’t. My mom sold him my car as I was leaving for college, and he paid a friend to “steal” it in hopes that he might not have to keep paying her for it…really, not one of society’s finest. He was, however, a very skilled chef, and part of his apprenticeship had been with a Chinese master of some sort. One of the tattoos on his forearm (I know, I know…give me a break, I was 17) was a Chinese symbol that meant “heart without anger.”

The experience of knowing Torrey taught me a lot of things—never set up payment plans on private car deals without bank involvement, how to recognize cocaine usage from the look of someone’s eyes…but the idea of a heart without anger sticks with me the most. Today, I have no idea what the tattoo looked like—hell, I can’t really remember what he looked like—but the concept has stayed with me. A few nights ago, as I headed to bed churning with anger over the day’s events, I remembered Torrey’s tattoo. As I exhaled deeply, I let as much of it go as I could…and sent out a silent prayer of sorts for the serenity to experience a heart without anger. It worked, at least long enough for me to fall asleep peacefully—and as I walked through the following day, I continued to gain perspective in a way that made the anger feel less important. For that, and for the countless times before that I’ve called upon the idea behind that small tattoo, I am very grateful to Torrey. Thanks.