
At times I break my own heart. In Seattle last summer, I visited Clara. We’ve been friends since second grade. She’s had a hard life and now suffers from a chronic disease that requires two or more surgeries a year. I feel so sad for her, but her spirit is strong, and I treasure our visits. Lately, she tells me she’s having memory loss, and I grieve even more for her. She plans our day together, and she seems to spend a lot of effort coordinating the times for our visit to her favorite museum with a lunch reservation afterward.
A couple of weeks before our day together, knowing I preferred vegan food, she told me to choose between two nearby restaurants: Grady’s or the Beach Cafe. I appreciated her consideration, and I looked up their menus online. Only one, the Beach Café, had vegan meals, so I emailed Clara my choice.
As we happily tour the fascinating paintings and drawings, I notice Clara keeping track of time. This impresses me because, from our youngest years, Clara couldn’t stay on schedule. She gets emotionally caught up in the moment, forgetting all else. However, on this occasion, she makes an extra effort to remember every detail. My heart aches in sympathy as I watch her determination.
The time for lunch arrives and we regretfully leave the beautiful museum. She drives me to Grady’s, the restaurant that has no vegan options. Without thinking, I blurt out, “Did you make the reservation here? But they don’t have any food for me. I emailed you the Beach Café.”
I feel Clara’s instant remorse. She seems to assume her faulty memory is automatically at fault. After trying to do everything perfectly, she’s making a major mistake. Downcast, she says, “I thought you wanted Grady’s.”
Feeling immediate guilt, I say, “I probably emailed you Grady’s by mistake. Let’s stay. I’m sure I’ll find plenty to eat here.”
“No,” she said, “we’ll drive to Beach Café and see if they have room there.”
We eat at the Beach Café and all is well. However, inside myself, I curse my big mouth. I want to honor all the efforts Clara makes to create a good day for us. By comparison, the restaurant choice isn’t a big deal.
I know what it feels like to do my utmost and know that it is never good enough. I grew up trying to placate an unpleasable mother, an endless Sisyphean task. A therapist once told me she’d never met anyone who struggled as hard as me.
Since then, I try to go easy on myself, to relax and enjoy life more, accepting okay-efforts as good enough. When I see Clara putting extra work into making a special time for us, my heart hurts for her because I can relate. I regret mentioning the restaurant issue. Although it seems a small thing, I only visit her twice a year and her overall physical suffering expands my grief, making this little incident loom larger.
Being older, I live with many regrets, as I imagine most humans do. I know now that it’s best not to make excuses for, or ignore, my errors. I accept that the world provides ample suffering in the natural course of aging. In addition to that, sometimes I break my own heart.

Real Life – Real Laughs:
Humor When You Need It Most
Cate Burns’ thirty-eight non-fiction stories of heartfelt humor explore society’s foibles and personal snafus with insightful zingers that will delight readers. Burns casts an unstinting, cock-eyed look at personal change, friendship, sanity and courage.
“Absolutely LOVE the descriptions in this work. Very, very, very clever and, dare I say it? -unique. This is refreshing, funny, inventive and delightful.” -Sharon Whitehill, Ph. D.