Bless me, reader, for I have sinned.
This week at the Mindful Writers Retreat in Ligonier, PA, I enthusiastically blasphemed in appreciation of several excellent passages of (other people’s) writing craft.
I (may) have taken the last cup of coffee without refilling the pot.
I let my Dutch app talk loudly at 11pm in my room while my neighbor was trying to sleep. (Hopefully Linda dreamt of wooden shoes and tulips.)
I coveted the writing success of my fellow retreaters.
I blatantly ignored good advice.
I blew off my walking ritual for five straight days because I’m too traumafied to walk in the rain.
I binge listened eight hours to rare vintage Billy Joel recordings (instead of writing).
I said hideous mean things to myself about putting on ten pounds this winter.
And my lazy butkus refused to feed the parking meter for the third time (in the rain again) downtown so I got a ticket (which I’m thinking is invalid because it’s too wet to read).
In truth it’s been a good week. There were lots of other errors in judgment I could have made, lots of cesspool self-talk moments narrowly avoided, and at least 20 pounds of junk food I didn’t consume.
But there is a lifetime of foolishness and bad choices I could be beating myself up about. Lots of youthful (and not so youthful) indiscretions. And a plethora of hurtful words both spoken and suppressed.
Today I forgive myself.
And it’s time you did, too.
Forgive yourself. And then perhaps, write about those moments… because they remind us of our ability to exercise free will, that decisions are shades of gray influenced by a tie-dyed world, and they humanize us to our readers who (mistakenly) believe we can do no wrong.
And sometimes they just remind us that we’re stronger than we thought we were.
I’d love to hear about what you learn. Just click Reply or Comment on the blog. Or if you’re ready to take the next step on your writing journey with a book coach, compassionate editor, and publishing cheerleader, by all means email me now!