Gives You Hell

The All American Rejects have a hit in "Gives You Hell."

I mean, who hasn't wanted to give someone hell before? Don't tell me there's not a single person who comes to mind when you hear this song?

"Gives You Hell" has universal appeal. Doesn't matter if it's meant for an ex (an obvious allusion), a former teacher or boss (maybe one who didn't think you'd achieve much), a parent (one whose expectation you couldn't live up to, or who abandoned you), an old friend (a falling out), or any other person important to you.

Whoever it was, and for whatever reason, it all fell apart. And it hurt. But you picked yourself up and moved on. Sort of.

Because if you'd really moved on, you wouldn't be singing this song. So loud. With that person's image in your mind.

But, you know, it goes both ways. Yeah, I hope it "gives you hell," but someone hopes it gives me hell, too.

Or did.

Love and hate are two expressions of the same emotion: passion. "Truth be told, I miss you. Truth be told, I'm lyin'."

Although I know I felt exactly as the All American Rejects at one time, I just don't now. Call it a mellowing, a maturing. After reflection, it's just not so raw anymore.

My life is really good -- for me. But I don't need to prove it to someone who is no longer in my life. Or compare it to anyone else's. And I don't need to make anyone feel bad, though at one time I might have felt I did.

Paths cross. We live, we love. (Isn't that another song? Well, lyrics are the poetry of our times.) We move on. We learn. Then we use those experiences to become who we're meant to be.

Years ago, I might have wanted to give you hell. Or you might have wanted that for me. But if I meet you on the street today, I'll simply say "Hello" and, yes, I'll even smile. Will you do the same for me?