Infidelity is always an interesting topic.
Take, for example, a research segment featured on a morning show earlier this week — let’s call it “to tell or not to tell.” A couple agrees to play parts in a cheating scenario that is exposed to the woman’s best friend on camera. We see the friend’s tortured expressions as she observes her friend’s husband with another woman. Several minutes later, she’s joined by her friend and the camera captures her agonizing over whether to tell all.
She spills it and the scene ends. The segment continues with a lively debate between women who looked the other way and women who came forward — women who were the last to know and women who heard it and weeped.
To tell or not to tell.
I know it well.
Listening to the debate, it seemed the goal of the segment was to help viewers choose a course of action by demonstrating predictable outcomes and consequences. If I am trying to decide whether I should tell or whether I should mind my own business, perhaps it will help me to see more clearly the likely consequences.
I couldn’t help rethinking my decision to tell.
If the anguish that came my way could have been predicted, would I have acted differently? Should I have protected my relationship by letting the truth come to light another way?
Wouldn’t you know, it was a table of wise women — friends who have stood by me for more than three decades — who restored my perspective last night.
It’s not about the consequences, they reminded me, it’s about what’s right.
This perspective gave me a new metaphor this morning. God the composer — God the conductor.
In this life I have a small but essential part in a magnificent composition that’s unfolding as we all play our parts. How can I base the notes I play on the music I want to hear next when I can’t possibly know the score — or its intentions?
What I can do is keep my eyes on the conductor, do my best to listen, and play my part when called on.
Listen. Act. Let go.