I’ve decided to forego the introduction to Thirty Days of Forgiveness and cut to the chase for the rest of the practice. If you just got here you can check out the explanation on my Oct. 27th post.
What must die?
11/28: The criticism that I wasted my youth.
11/29: The dread of old age.
11/30: The endless rehearsal of what I should have done and should have said.
If to forgive is to love, am I ready to love?
11/28: I never knew what I wanted. I only knew what I didn’t want. I feel like I did it backwards; deciding on the life I wanted after trying on lives like outfits bought on clearance. The rejects and leftovers and steals seemed like such great deals, the irregulars, the discontinued. I would find out they were each an awful fit only after investing an exorbitant amount of effort trying to make them work. I guess I chose my life through the process of elimination. I concede that not everyone does it that way, or maybe not everyone takes as long, but what’s done is done. The point is–I got it done. If I am happy now then perhaps I spent my youth working out all the crap that might have prevented me from being happy now. I got it done while I was still young enough to survive it and recover from it.
11/29: Like re-integration I wrote about earlier this month, this feels like a reckoning. It’s not so far off anymore that I can ignore it. I can see it and feel it, so it’s front and center. Deal with me now, Honey. You knew you would have to sooner or later. She’s saying to me, this is my time now! And it feels like I owe her–the aging Me. She wants to settle the bill. I’ll have to finally reconcile all the things I didn’t honor when I was young. Welcome it back in, let it be viable. Retrieve all the stuff I pushed away and threw away. Bring it back home and put it back where it belongs. Maybe being old doesn’t matter so much once we are whole.
11/30: We do this because we refuse to see things as they are. We refuse to see ourselves as we are, or in this case, as we were. We keep playing What If with the past as a creative form of denial. Maybe we were stupid. Maybe we were ill-prepared. Maybe we were in shock. Maybe we were scared. Maybe we went too far. What we should have done was be the people we really are, which is likely what we did–it’s just that we can’t accept who we really were. We acted like who we were. We said the things people like that say. All we can do is accept and forgive this.
What pain must I face?
11/28: I wished I had loved my body more. I wish I had loved it all the way. I wish I had treasured the beauty of my younger body instead of torturing it and hating it for a thousand ridiculous failures to be impossibly different from how it was created. I wish I had worn pink. I wish I had been proud of my femininity. I wish I had known how powerful and creative all those young resources were. But I didn’t, and I own that, and I accept that, and I reach back and lovingly fondle in retrospect, and let go of the regret. I love her now.
11/29: What I understand now–the big reveal, I guess–is that I can look at someone else and understand that who they are, how they look, how they function, their success, their talent, their everything, does not translate into anything about me. It does not refer to me. It does not contrast to me. We do not compare because we can’t. Nothing about anyone else means anything about me. I can now gaze and listen and appreciate and accept and enjoy without believing it means anything about me. This doesn’t feel painful though it is something I’ve faced. Do you have to be old to understand this? Fine. I face that too.
11/30: It doesn’t matter what we should have said or done. We cannot repay our karmic debts with fantasies of multiple takes on a perpetual movie set in our minds. No matter how many times we do it over, imagining how we might have done it right, it won’t change a thing in our reality. Only forgiveness changes reality, which means facing the truth as it happened, not producing a fantasy of the truth.
Can I own this publicly?