My Turn: Guilty or not guilty?

By GENE STAMELL

Published: 02-01-2023 2:53 PM

My mother was a big advocate for guilt. “Guilt builds character,” she would say. “If you feel some guilt, you will become a better person.”

I’m not sure her opinion influenced my choice of spouse, but my wife of 43 years once told me that she has never, in her entire life, felt guilty about anything. Life without guilt? That sounds like an oxymoron to me. (And you can imagine the gist of some of our conversations: “I feel so badly I forgot to wish Mark a happy birthday.” “Oh, forget about it. He’ll live.”)

Anyway, I recently returned home from a four-day golf trip to Florida. Talk about guilt! This would have to be the first installment of a guest column series to fully explore the topic! But rather than bore you, dear reader, with a detailed analysis of the sources of my shame and regret, I provide the following bulleted list:

■Driving to Bradley, polluting the air as I sing along to Spotify.

■Flying in an airplane for frivolous reasons.

■Supplementing the wealth of resort owners, thus widening the income gap.

■Blithely taking advantage of the overuse of water, a precious resource, for the purpose of providing smoother and greener putting surfaces for golfers, such as myself, who couldn’t 2-putt a green if my life depended on it.

■Spending a hefty sum on an outing with buddies instead of donating the money to charity.

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■Abandoning the guiltless one in the dead of winter.

And now, after leading you on during your last 35 seconds of reading, I must issue a confession: I don’t actually feel guilty about any of the items on the above list. Sorry about that. (Lesson: never trust the bulleted list of someone who writes a column for the pure enjoyment of seeing his name in print.)

But here’s the honest-to-goodness truth: I do feel guilty about not feeling guilty about my extravagant getaway. Ukraine is in crisis and I go golfing? Children in African villages drink polluted water and I stroll around, 3-putting manicured greens? I willingly contribute to global warming on the highways and in the air? How could I not feel terribly about not regretting my unnecessary indulgences?

We humans are fascinating creatures. Most of us are quite adept at justifying our actions and beliefs by putting blinders on when confronted with less appealing alternatives. We seem to have the innate skill of compartmentalizing. Each of us, of course, has different sizes and numbers of compartments, but the largest one for everyone houses death. Yes, therapists’ practices are teeming with people whose death compartments have become compromised, but, on the whole, we are able to live our lives forgetting that we will one day not exist. This is a feat not to be taken for granted.

Since moving to Leverett more than four years ago, I have met many people who truly live by their values, folks who hang clothes out to dry, shop only at local farm stands, eschew buying from Amazon, reuse and repair rather than buy new. I admire these neighbors; they are model citizens, intent on playing their small parts in protecting our precious planet. These are people, from my outsider’s point of view, who need only a few compartments for guilt storage; they “walk the walk.”

I, too, do my part. (I’m not a complete cad.) I compost and recycle, turn off lights around the house, care deeply about family and friends, respect and appreciate children. I try to live what might be called a “good life.” But I am lazy (there, I used the “L” word): I order online, use a microwave, drive when I can bike, shop wherever is most convenient. I could go on and on, but the bottom line is, to maintain my sense of righteousness and self-worth, I require many, tightly sealed compartments.

It has taken me the better part of my life to construct these hideaways, with my spouse an unwitting building partner. Without lifting a finger, she has modeled what life without guilt is like. And I’ll say this: it ain’t bad.

Now if only there were a way to construct a compartment for feeling guilty about not feeling guilty. Mom, I hate to say it: that would be the ticket to true happiness.

Gene Stamell lives with his guiltless spouse in Leverett. He can be reached at gstamell@gmail.com.

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