• by Kaila Colbin , Featured Contributor, December 30, 2022

It was nearly 30 years ago, and my friend Oscar was mad at me about something. The details of what I’d done don’t matter. I’ve long forgotten them, anyway.

What I haven’t forgotten is how it got resolved: with him saying, “It’s okay; I forgive you” -- and then checking himself, shaking his head a bit, and clarifying: “Sorry, I don’t forgive you, because only God can forgive. But I’ve let it go.”

I’ve let it go. That line drew me up short, stopped me in my tracks. I’ve thought about it a thousand times since. Four and a half words -- a mere 15 characters -- caused me to reassess everything I understood about anger, and forgiveness, and responsibility. I’ve let it go.

Up until that point, my understanding of forgiveness was pretty straightforward: You do something wrong, I get mad at you, and then, through my infinite capacity for compassion and love, I forgive you. I allow you back into the tent of my good graces. I finish punishing you with my anger. You have been absolved of guilt.

In this version of events, you are wrong and I am right. My forgiveness is about you and whether you’ve earned it. And you have to wait patiently until I tell you that you can move on from your transgressions.

This is the model of forgiveness that most of us carry around. And it helps explain why it can be so hard to forgive. Within this model, “I forgive you,” means, “It’s okay now, you no longer have to pay for what you’ve done.”

But what if what you’ve done wasn’t okay? What if you did something terrible, something I’ll be thinking about for a long time?

Oscar’s insight was that the decision to forgive -- to let it go -- has nothing to do with whether the other person has “earned” it. If you’ve done something wrong, your guilt is your problem, and my anger is my problem. I don’t get to decide on your behalf whether you continue to feel guilty, and you don’t get to decide on my behalf whether I continue to feel angry.

This insight recognizes that anger is more painful for the one carrying it than for the person I’m trying to punish with it. When I’m angry, I suffer. Letting go of my anger isn’t about telling you what you did is okay; it’s about letting go of my own suffering.

The Buddhists say that holding onto anger is like holding onto a hot coal and waiting for the other person to get burned. Letting go of the coal doesn’t mean the other person has earned exoneration; it means we’re ready to stop burning ourselves.

Finally, Oscar’s insight was about the power of choice we have: to hold onto anger or to let it go. To drop the coal.

I think about Oscar’s reframing of forgiveness in the context of an online world designed to shock, provoke and anger us. When I read headlines driving us towards tribalism, decrying the latest terrible thing the Other Side did. Urging us to pick up hot coals and cradle them close to our chests.

As we head into the new year, it’s an opportune moment to think about the coals we’ve been holding onto and whether we can let them go. About who we are really punishing when we nurture animosity toward others. About whether our media outlets add fuel to our anger or help set us free.

Happy new year to you. May your 2023 be full of joy, growth and -- dare I say it -- forgiveness.

With love, Kaila