Opinions are like assholes
This week, there were two postings on my trip to L.A. What were supposed to be a series of lighthearted, fish-out-of-water stories have been (unfortunately) misconstrued as mean-spirited and malicious. That was never my intention.
These stories were supposed to resemble an Englishman in New York-style of trip - foreign man, foreign land - since all my life, no matter how hard I try to fit in, I was always a square peg in a round hole.
It should be said and noted that the people of L.A. were nothing if not welcoming and giving to a foreigner (and complete stranger), like myself. They made me a part of their group. They made me feel like I wasn’t as square as I believed. It felt like a much sunnier and warmer version of home.
And, in one fell swoop, I ruined it all by writing about how out of place I felt.
The greatest irony of this situation is I have been hurt so often, the bruises never seem to heal. I pledged to never do that to another individual. Now, in approximately 600 words, I have become a hypocrite.
The bridges that I built over the past year have not only been burned, but blown up to smithereens. And it pains me to no end they will never be rebuilt.
Whether the posts were deleted, these stories are ingrained in the minds of those who want to forget they ever met me, spoke to me, wrote to me, or even know my name.
No matter what I say, write or do, will be enough. They won't forgive me, and I don't expect them to.
As I sit here teary-eyed, I realize that there is nothing I can do. Nothing. It is beyond my control.
And, I am sorry.