There was a lick of fog hanging over the south end of Grenadier Pond today.
This has been in my head.
Here’s the thing about making amends.
I need to start with myself.
That’s the hard part.
It’s what takes the longest.
Sometimes I need to lean into it. Push on my character.
I made a video amend to myself this year. There was an email I sent before it.
I called it, 2021 Lessons in Journalism.
I dated it because the learning's not done.
My approach was creative. It made opening the door to the tender stuff easier.
Looking squarely at the way I behaved. Swallowing my pride.
The whole point of it—knowing how I need to change.
I was pleased when it was done. It's fulsome.
Forgiveness is a process.
It took me more than two years.
Unnecessary delays are felt in subtle ways.
The time was ripe to get on with it.
Or embrace low-frequency discomfort.
I did it because I needed to. The events robbed me of words for a while.
For a long time, I could not write.
That’s all I’ve got these days.
It's my life.
Understanding what’s not mine to own takes time too.
It feels good to be clear about that.
Being responsible and sorry for everything is impossible.
Others will get to their stuff. Or they won't.
Not my business.
A wise person who has my back reminded me of this (and I’m paraphrasing here):
All people are to some extent emotionally ill as well as frequently wrong.
That sentence is currently taped to my desk.
© Deborah Reid, 2021 - 2023. All Rights Reserved.