Stop Being Mean to Yourself: A Story About Finding the True Meaning of Self-Love by Melody Beattie Page A
Authors: Melody Beattie
Tags: Self-Help, Personal Growth, Self-acceptance, Self-Esteem, North, Beattie, Melody - Journeys - Africa
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I give you something, some money for your time today, as a gift, a way of saying thank you?" I asked Nazil.
He resolutely refused. "I could not take money," he said, shaking his head. "That would be wrong. It was a privilege to spend the day with you and tell you the story of Algeria and my people. Besides," he said, smiling, "we went for a drive in the country. We had fun."
I watched Nazil slip over the ruins, then disappear into a colony of homes by the sea. As Fateh drove us back to the hotel, I noticed for the first time how tensed my body was—and had been all day. Because of Ramadan, we had not eaten or drunk anything. I was getting thirsty. I wanted a drink of water.
"There's our zoo," Fateh said, as we neared the hotel. "It's closed now, but we have the oldest living alligator there," he said proudly.
Page 57
We passed through the hotel's security barricade. Gendarmes searched the car one more time. Then Fateh parked and walked me to the hotel entrance. We stood there looking around at the guards, the barricades, and the treetops in the distance.
"Did you enjoy today?" Fateh asked.
"Yes, very much. Thank you," I said.
He smiled, and seemed pleased. I turned to him, put my hand over my heart, and looked directly into his eyes ."May God help your heart continue to heal from the loss of your love," I said.
Fateh looked at me. I saw and felt a strength in him I hadn't before seen. "I will pray that Allah is gentle with you, too," he said.
Fateh went to the hotel's employee entrance to report for work. I returned to my room. I was scheduled to be back in the lobby in one hour. Fateh had arranged several other events for me, including attending a holy Ramadan feast with a Berber family tomorrow evening to break the fast after sundown. My day tour of the Algerian countryside had ended.
Once in a while—not too often—a person crosses our path who, despite tremendous obstacles and pain, has managed to retain his or her identity, values, integrity, and faith in God—whether that person calls God "Allah," "Jehovah," or "God." That person knows what he or she Page 58
believes and holds fast to those beliefs despite enormous pressure to do otherwise. And that person's decision to honor his or her values has little to do with what that person has received from life or from God. Although that person has not gotten what he or she has longed for, hoped for, desired, or deserved, he or she has not turned on God, or upon others. He or she has not turned on himself or herself .
There is a glowing power in that person that is irrefutable.
Being in that person's presence, even for a little while, changes us. We now have a paragon, a model, a jewel exemplar by which to gauge ourselves. We may not always live up to those standards, but we will forevermore be conscious of when we are falling short. And those few moments with that person will help us remember who and what we are striving to be.
That's what happened to me, in the heart of the vortex of terrorism on January 27, 1996, on my day tour of Algiers. I met a young man named Nazil. He told me the story of his country. He told me what he believed. And I saw a light that shone so brightly I would never again be the same.
In a land where people had lost their freedom and power, he had found a way to be free and he understood the meaning of power.
A true warrior had crossed my path.
Page 59
''Did any of these people you met in Algiers give you anything to transport? Anything at all?'' the Cairo interrogator demanded.
"Yes," I said. "They gave me some gifts."
"Show them to me now," she said.
I unlocked my suitcase, which was sitting on the large platform table between us. I showed her a pink, handembroidered Berber gown and a color poster of the Casbah d ' Alger .Then I showed her my prized possession. It was a white cardboard yearatatime 1996 calendar. The names of the months and the days were inscribed in French. On the top of the calendar, above the months, was
He resolutely refused. "I could not take money," he said, shaking his head. "That would be wrong. It was a privilege to spend the day with you and tell you the story of Algeria and my people. Besides," he said, smiling, "we went for a drive in the country. We had fun."
I watched Nazil slip over the ruins, then disappear into a colony of homes by the sea. As Fateh drove us back to the hotel, I noticed for the first time how tensed my body was—and had been all day. Because of Ramadan, we had not eaten or drunk anything. I was getting thirsty. I wanted a drink of water.
"There's our zoo," Fateh said, as we neared the hotel. "It's closed now, but we have the oldest living alligator there," he said proudly.
Page 57
We passed through the hotel's security barricade. Gendarmes searched the car one more time. Then Fateh parked and walked me to the hotel entrance. We stood there looking around at the guards, the barricades, and the treetops in the distance.
"Did you enjoy today?" Fateh asked.
"Yes, very much. Thank you," I said.
He smiled, and seemed pleased. I turned to him, put my hand over my heart, and looked directly into his eyes ."May God help your heart continue to heal from the loss of your love," I said.
Fateh looked at me. I saw and felt a strength in him I hadn't before seen. "I will pray that Allah is gentle with you, too," he said.
Fateh went to the hotel's employee entrance to report for work. I returned to my room. I was scheduled to be back in the lobby in one hour. Fateh had arranged several other events for me, including attending a holy Ramadan feast with a Berber family tomorrow evening to break the fast after sundown. My day tour of the Algerian countryside had ended.
Once in a while—not too often—a person crosses our path who, despite tremendous obstacles and pain, has managed to retain his or her identity, values, integrity, and faith in God—whether that person calls God "Allah," "Jehovah," or "God." That person knows what he or she Page 58
believes and holds fast to those beliefs despite enormous pressure to do otherwise. And that person's decision to honor his or her values has little to do with what that person has received from life or from God. Although that person has not gotten what he or she has longed for, hoped for, desired, or deserved, he or she has not turned on God, or upon others. He or she has not turned on himself or herself .
There is a glowing power in that person that is irrefutable.
Being in that person's presence, even for a little while, changes us. We now have a paragon, a model, a jewel exemplar by which to gauge ourselves. We may not always live up to those standards, but we will forevermore be conscious of when we are falling short. And those few moments with that person will help us remember who and what we are striving to be.
That's what happened to me, in the heart of the vortex of terrorism on January 27, 1996, on my day tour of Algiers. I met a young man named Nazil. He told me the story of his country. He told me what he believed. And I saw a light that shone so brightly I would never again be the same.
In a land where people had lost their freedom and power, he had found a way to be free and he understood the meaning of power.
A true warrior had crossed my path.
Page 59
''Did any of these people you met in Algiers give you anything to transport? Anything at all?'' the Cairo interrogator demanded.
"Yes," I said. "They gave me some gifts."
"Show them to me now," she said.
I unlocked my suitcase, which was sitting on the large platform table between us. I showed her a pink, handembroidered Berber gown and a color poster of the Casbah d ' Alger .Then I showed her my prized possession. It was a white cardboard yearatatime 1996 calendar. The names of the months and the days were inscribed in French. On the top of the calendar, above the months, was
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