Ease into the day. Be happy for the simple act of waking, walking downstairs, and making coffee. Today is appreciated a little more because yesterday was harder. Or so it seems when the new morning is dark and damp, fresh with quiet and stars.
Days are inaccurately rated in hindsight because you aren’t the same person you were then—in the yesterdays. So, you are today who you weren’t yesterday. Commenting on your inexperience from a place of more knowledge.
Navigating days gets easier because there’s less difference in daily experience. This is especially true in a small town like this when you confine yourself to your roles and expectations. Comfort…confinement.
But let’s not digress too much. And let’s not forget there’s plenty more to do and feel and observe if we put ourselves in a different situation, position, or shaft of light.
I’m not going to dig away at my past and disparage it anymore. I am forgiving myself for my transgressions. I have learned. I will learn. I want others to learn. And learning, as difficult as it can be—peeling away at memories and layers, finding wounds that never were given a chance to heal—is done by reporting the truth as best as one can. And the truth is that I am a human that’s been navigating alone for most of his life. Not always, of course. I have supportive family, friends, and acquaintances, but I have spent much time and effort avoiding deep human connection. I have shied away from opportunities for close relationships for fear of being found out–I’m as flawed and fucked up as everybody else. I don’t know what I’m doing.
And this ugly truth is not so ugly at all, but real and tangible, ghostly and scary, loving and fluid, confusing and bright, dark and hopeful. Solid as a rock.
I’ve messed up lots. But saying that is only part of it. The confession, the acknowledgment of my flaws—is only a step in the right direction to get past the past and move on. The other part is forgiving myself for unsavory acts, awful thoughts, and all those good deeds left undone. A recognition of the value of well-made mistakes–giving myself a break–is what I need to ease into this dark, starry morning happy for my third Thanksgiving in 30 years without drinking.