I have made mistakes. It's important, I think, when you're assessing where your life is at, to own the fact that you got yourself to where you are. You walked yourself there. Life is an event in which you participate. Own your part.
I have recently made some, um, big assed mistakes.
These mistakes, like the successes in my life, are mine. They belong to me. I can't let go of them -- I am still dealing with the ramifications and fallout of them -- and I continue to do the mental equivalent of weighing them in the palm of my hand because of the kind of mistakes they are.
Which is to say: I went about something with good intentions and an open heart and ... Well. To say it backfired would be a gross understatement. To say it nearly left me homeless would NOT be a gross overstatement.
I've aged about five years in the last two weeks.
And yet.
Mistakes are often gifted with an imperfect beauty. If I err, and suffer for it, my suffering is balanced out with tremendous joy. I have been struggling with the ramifications of my choices, it's true, but I have also been shown how much love I have in my life. While I have been reeling, I have also had many hands reach out to catch me before I could fall. When I have said that I am scared, I have had amazing people reach out to hold me. When I have said that the world has seemed dark, an endless number of friends lit candles to help me find my way.
I have been worried, frightened, and stressed.
But I have also been blessed.
So I own my mistakes. I own the fact that I got myself here through a series poor judgement calls -- ones that were made with the best of intentions, but were made nonetheless. I own them and I keep moving forward with the knowledge that I will make more errors in life, but that no error would be so great as to fail to learn and love.
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