Left Hanging

I don’t know what it is, but something is happening. I can’t tell whether it has to do with other people or with me. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe it’s some tertium quid — something like Einstein’s fudge factor in general relativity or his “local hidden variable” in quantum mechanics. Those were his ways of admitting that no one really knew what was going on. I wouldn’t put my own quid in the same category as general relativity or quantum theory, but the principle holds: something is happening that we — I — can’t account for.

What’s he going on about now, you ask? I’m referring to the phenomenon of people leaving me hanging. Lately, three vendors in a row have not gotten back to me about a proposed home remodel. I’m talking weeks; in one case, months. I get it. They’re busy managing projects, coordinating with subcontractors, and handling follow‑up issues. It’s also the holidays, so they don’t have time for a smaller project with a guy who doesn’t seem to be in much of a rush.

It’s true. I’m not in a rush. Never have been. I just got my 1955 Wedgewood oven repaired after three years of non-use. It has more chrome than a Cadillac, so I was content just to sit at the kitchen table and admire it (see Tea for Two). I’d like some response, though — some recognition of my existence, even if that existence is not so profitable (for invisibility, see Ye Olde Cheese Shop). That’s a bit hard to swallow, considering the budget for the remodel.

It’s not just vendors leaving me hanging. I’ve been asked to plan some events for my church. That’s not the kind of work I enjoy, even though I did a couple of presentations myself and liked the feel of teaching again. But it has turned out to be almost impossible to coordinate with outside presenters. They’ve left me hanging — ghosted, as it were — which tells me that either they weren’t interested in the first place, or they believe I’ll feel let down.

But I don’t feel let down or even disappointed. I don’t take it personally. I observe the behavior and make a note of it. To conclude that most people can’t be trusted is probably too harsh, but it does show that people are not as in control of themselves or as disciplined as they could be. Biblical wisdom applies here: “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much; and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much” (Luke 16:10).

I’m not excluding myself. In the past, I have been untrustworthy in things both big and small, which is why I know the importance of trying to live up to my word. It also makes me appreciate the people who follow through and take responsibility for their words and actions, no matter how uncomfortable that may be. I can count the number of those people on one hand, which is why family is so important.

An example of this is the funeral I attended yesterday. I found out about it the night before and said I would try to make it but probably wouldn’t. I went anyway, knowing it would please the family and surprise the friend who had told me about it. After all, who says “maybe” and then shows up? Practically no one. I thought it would be the right thing to do, and, as it turns out, I’m glad I went. I also haven’t been inside a Presbyterian church in years.

But then I ruined it in the reception afterward by looking around and thinking just how ready‑made funerals are for flirting and picking up people. I couldn’t help myself. Death is even more intimate and personal than prayer. It can’t be counted as a loss, though, since I did not act on my observation, which is what I would have done years earlier. There were opportunities. That’s about the only time when being left hanging actually worked.

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Image credits: Stephen Tafra, Susanne Schwarz. For more, go to Robert Brancatelli. Visit other blog readers under “Who You Are.” Comment by clicking on “Leave a Reply” below or the Contact tab above. This post is dedicated to Dave Nelson (1934-2025), father, boxer, coach, teacher.