Too many steps forward and you will be forced to leap back to the beginning. In every instance of regression we feel slighted as if we did not have a say in whether or not we went all the way. It is fair to be weary. To have a heart weighed down by an irrepressible pain.
But the art of forgiveness requires us to change.
I have no stock in another person’s recovery steps. They can be silent and broken, refusing to ask for help. They can be recklessly happy and move forward with grace.
But the art of forgiveness means we do not stay the same.
Each time we “get back up” a piece falls off from our resiliency. After awhile, there is no more hopefulness. No more faith. No more peace. I have written bitter endings into my narrative so much so that now I do not know how to get rid of the ache.
But the art of forgiveness means we put old things away.
The dream died. If we are being honest it never had a chance to survive. You put two people in a story who both believe they are right and it is only a matter of time before they end up on different sides. Fighting for a future that neither can fully provide.
But the art of forgiveness means you move forward with the rest of your life.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news in my own expectations or the facilitator of less than my absolute best when I am actively pursuing my dreams. I want to grow tired of the lies I sell myself and follow my heart as it leads me to truth. But it takes so much more than hopes and good thoughts to inspire lasting and effectual change.
Sometimes, you have to break down completely before you will ever follow through.
I am not infallible. Every day I wake up just like you with a choice to do better or to stay statically still. I could go on and on about the times I wasted or the balls I let drop while the world around me refused to stop–but none of that will matter unless I choose to make a difference now, for me.
When you are not emotionally connected to your actions, you will continue to fail without any regard to who you are taking down with you. You will emote and feel things deeply but forget that it is not all about your problems. It is about finding a path in the middle towards achieving and maintaining peace. Peace that can not exist if we are constantly fighting.
I do not want to hear “suck it up” when the truth in love inspires us to speak words of healing over people who are truly suffering. There are a thousand ways we can say the same thing without wounding sensitive spirits with our harsh expressions.
Some days this is harder for us to do–but the most beautiful things have a way of happening in spite of you.
I could tell you I am not an organizer. That I do not relish in setting goals or making plans for my future. But the truth is I wake up everyday with an idea of how I am going to advance my life. I can connect with my idea of perfect–fully knowing that true perfection does not exist.
The problem is waiting for another person’s idea of the right time.
I believe I am doing a good job of living my life. That I am doing my best and giving my all with the understanding that I can always do more. I could work smarter and be more intentional, but again I am not perfect. There will never be enough hours in the day to do what I want–and a lot of my waking hours are spent doing what is necessary.
There are times of great clarity when I feel God is propelling me towards my dreams. Then, there are longer lulls of silence and a presence of absence that I cannot leave behind. I hear this voice telling me to “get after it,” because at the end of the day I can only control me. I cannot take tests for my daughter or find better jobs for my family.
At times, it is daunting to even be responsible for myself.
I keep thinking this particular cycle I am subsisting in will stop. That I will wake up and follow the voice that wants better for me. But just like others with great potential, I waste time in fleeting emotions. This tells me I do not know what I want and maybe, I am not capable of change. Maybe I have already given my best and this is the highest I can elevate.
It would be nice to claim innocence and stand blameless in this mess of a world we are creating. But the truth is, we are inherently responsible for the effects we leave on other people. I know. I am far from perfect. I will not even attempt to list my personal faults–but at the top of these is my willingness to sacrifice live hearts on the fire of indifference. When I get to this place, it does not matter what the object meant to me.
I will not be happy until it is gone.
Lately, in my karmic loop I am reaping a ton of restless energy. I wonder what my next steps will hold and who else is not coming with me. After all, fortune favors the bold and those who understand the necessity of abrupt endings. I admire those who seek vaguely repentant deeds, wandering hopelessly in a cloud that takes you right back to where you started. But my riches are not invested in people or groveling on my knees for the sake of other mortals.
Everyday could be beautiful if we would all just learn to keep our mouths shut. Maybe, I find happiness in trying to mind my own business and in leaving others to their own coping mechanisms. I cannot tell someone else how to grieve, nor will I try to reason with someone who is bent on masticating mindlessly over a figurative demise.
This, is like telling a writer what they can and can’t write.
Yes, we are responsible for every character we type.
For the actions we take when we are desperate to survive.
We are tied to the words we speak in the darkest of nights.
But you cannot control them, once they come to life.
It will never matter how compatible two people are if they lack the necessary spark. I heard about this chemical imbalance going around, incomparable to all the damage I have ever gone through. Promised myself I would close off my aortic valve–permanently.
But the longer I stand on my own two feet, the harder it is to remain isolated. I claim to be tentatively ready to rejoin the race. Feeling it is possible to purge and at the same time replace.
A damaged heart continues to beat.
Despite my violent outbursts and protests against my own unnecessary pain, I always resolved to eventually recuperate. There is no excuse for wallowing when life offers so many beautiful new beginnings. We are attracted to quick starts that send reviving jolts to our hearts. Thriving when our affections are reciprocated.
I can see the sun rising over my independent horizon. Natural light floods into the drought of my conscious mood. A cloud lifts, from my negative, misguided loop. Drawing me back to what is important. I am full of resilient stars and effervescent moons. Born to recover one hurt after the other on the verge of a definite breakthrough.
And it is with this full awareness that I can finally face the truth:
I am writing less and less these days. Mostly because I am in school full time and working and parenting the same. Also, because I was nominated to write a speech for my Commencement Ceremony coming this January. And my daughter was nominated to participate in a city wide spelling bee. I guess you could say our life is busy.
I keep running into people I have long since left behind. We greet, timidly–as if our interaction can be manipulated. But when “coincidence” has its hooks in you, you learn to just go with it. I know that no matter how many circles of denial I wrap myself around, if it is meant, I will always find my way home. Wherever that may be.
A heavy heart is the most common cause for anxiety. I mitigate this with lots of yoga and mindful thinking. To the point that now when a certain area of my body is tight, I know what moves will get me flowing again. I am still working on getting my heart to follow suit.
Someone of interest is interested in me. But I cannot seem to gather up the energy to engage in the necessary rituals of dating. The ironic thing about this person, is we both more than likely feel the exact same way. The higher the cost, the longer it takes.
Sickness and lack of health are pressing themes. The costs of which are weighing oppressively on my family. I feel helpless and angry. A part of me also feels resentment that the burden usually falls on me. But then, I am reminded that it could all be so much worse. And I stop obsessing and start to breathe.
And finally. I hate to say it but: I am much much happier and more effective by myself. I am determined and focused and on a consistent schedule and routine. In short, I get things done–undeterred by another person’s hangups.
I wrestle with the thought that this means I will always be like this