I feel like I should wrap up Thirty Days of Forgiveness though I can’t really remember if I’ve done so at the conclusion of my previous Novembers. Surely I did, in the interest of closure or summation. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t. What I can tell you today is that it feels incomplete to just walk away without saying something.
I remember a TV series I followed many, many years ago in which a city-bred New Yorker goes camping in the Alaskan bush and is forced to dookie in the woods for the first time. No one told him he was supposed to dig a hole so he just squatted under a tree and plopped his load. When he walked back to the campsite he complained to his companion that his greatest discomfort was not squatting in the cold, baring his ass to Nature, or even wiping with a leaf. His big issue was standing up and walking away without doing anything to finish the poop. No satisfying flush to finish it off and make it feel civilized. No lid down. No match to light. No door to close. No gesture of commencement. Just turning his back and leaving his poo steaming on the ground without a final act. He said it felt like such bad manners, so uncouth, even worse than not washing his hands.
I don’t feel that way, exactly. My Thirty Days of writing here is not the equivalent of a steaming pile of excrement but I do appreciate the sentiment. You don’t just walk off stage without saying goodnight or taking a bow, do you? At least thank your audience, right?
I will tell you, dear Assassans, that this was by far the most difficult Thirty Days I’ve ever done. They are all difficult in the sense that after a week or two the documentation feels drudgerous. It’s always fun to do the actual practice but after a few days it feels like a chore to write about it every single day. I got spoiled during all those years of blogging about whatever I wanted each day. Forcing myself to write about one thing, every day, for so many days in a row always gets tedious. In this case the actual practice was as hard as the writing. It was not fun. It was WORK to ferret out forgiveness and insights and deeply sunken falsehoods to face. Every damn day. So truthfully, I’m glad it’s over.
Not that it wasn’t worth it. It was good work even if it was hard work and it was work that obviously needed to be done. I’m glad I pushed through even if it did kind of get away from me there at the end, but I’m also glad it’s done. Thank glob I didn’t choose sixty days, or hell, even thirty-one days. It did create a new habit for me though.
Although I don’t really pray in the traditional sense, I did establish a morning practice around my meditations on this Thirty Days. I started calling it Morning Prayers in lieu of a better title. It started off with 30-45 minutes every morning dedicated to thinking and writing for this project. Once I figured out that I usually needed much, much time than that to generate constructive thoughts on the topic(s), I opted for alternative times but kept the daily morning devotional time. That was an unintended bonus. Morning Prayers stuck. Now that I’ve got some free time I can come up with something to call them other than Prayers. Maybe I’ll work on that tomorrow morning during Morning Whatevers.
So this is me flushing. Trying to be all civilized. Here’s your steaming pile of closure. I’m putting the lid down. Ba-whoosh. I’m washing my hands. I’m taking a bow. Y’all have been great; thank you so much; please tip your waiter. If you have any brilliant ideas regarding what to call Morning Prayers that aren’t really prayers, feel free to drop them in the suggestion box. After you build me a suggestion box.