I could make this story fantastical. It could take place on a long stretch of lush land or millions of miles into the atmosphere. It could be a fable about two crabs meeting at the bottom of the ocean or two pelicans flying a winter migration together. Somehow, I imagine that it’d make it easier — taking the practice out of it... Most things are easier when they are new, unrivaled, and romantic.
Like when boy meets girl. Newbie finds friends. Parents are proud.
The first “aha!” of a new connection. The sentimental mood of a holiday. An unforgettable night. The high and fantastic parts of life, when your faucet for love and grace has more pressure. Your hope is flared, weakening your pessimism and habitual protections.
But being a person to other people is a long and tiresome exercise, and so many of us are exhausted.
Offering yourself. Extending a hand. Being generous. Having boundaries. Knowing what is practical. Allowing your mind to forget, because you need room for new information. Smiling at strangers. Crying to a friend. Keeping secrets, sisters, and promises.
So I guess this could be a love letter to those I’ve known, with such a capacity to be a person to me… or maybe a middle finger to those who couldn’t? But forgiveness feels much more urgent.
The light in me sees the light in you, and it’s inevitable shadows.
I forgive myself for the rules I misread. I forgive them for not having more. I release myself of the responsibility, and illusion, that I always have the final say. I allow myself, and those around me, to get it wrong. I create standards with the divine in mind, and use that same mind to navigate when it isn’t met. I honor my desire for the pure and positive, knowing that all hands have the power to taint and break.
I let go of flawless, understanding that I will have to do it again. and again. and again.
The message is clear! Forgiving yourself feels like a warm hug