Growing up in a small town, there's lots of time for reflection. Time to sit by the river and wait for your enemies to roll by or read the Art of War. It's up to you. There is always more time and it's never to late to write your wrongs. My Grandma Far was a fan of two nuggets of truth. 1. What's for you doesn't go by you. Which means, if you're destined to have something or you've earned it, you'll get it. And 2. The whole world can't be wrong. Meaning, if you're the only one to see things your way, you're probably wrong. And I am. I have been wrong a lot lately. Which is not to say I haven't been trying, I've just been trying the wrong things the right way and ignoring the right things the wrong way
The strangest part about being wrong is that you don't realize it until it's too late. Sad, but true. If l had stopped to listen to the oh so very many voices of reason while on this tunnel vision express train, I probably wouldn't have F*ed things up...quite so badly. There were warning signs- I ignored. There were beacons of information- I ignored. How about the pony express telegrams I received, but instead of reading, I did what, oh that's right- I ignored them. Hubby says that people need to go through a selfish faze, especially when their goals are as lofty as mine. Here is the problem though. I am double crossing myself. Hedging my bets. By putting in the effort for the things I need to be good at to achieve my goals, I risk losing the things I am already great at. And I don't like that, it feels wrong.
When it feels like the world hates my guts, there is special person I turn to. The man behind the curtain. My Papa B; renowned grump and philosopher. Plus sometimes I just need to talk to my Daddy. As I wept onto my smart phone, my Papa B apologized for giving me his guarded and easily aggravated genes. He is convinced that he is responsible for the not-so-social quirks my Bro and I share. Which are many and widely varied. This might explain why the only person the 3 of us really trust is my Momma. I know he's wrong about giving me all my quirks cuz I got a few from my Momma as well. But where things really go wrong is when the two gene pools collide. My Papa B's shrouded mystery with my Momma's need to shout it from the rooftops. My Papa B's grumpiness with my Momma's need to please. Papa B took an hour on a windy almost winter day to talk me down from a lonely breezy, freezing ledge and what I needed to hear most was the last thing he said: "No matter how wrong you are. If you apologize and mean it, there will always be time to right what you've wronged, if that's what you want." And I want to. Living life right is about maintenance, it takes work. You're never wrong for wanting to better yourself. But there is a right way to do it. As for their genes, they may never fit me and look flattering. But my Mom's genes will sure look good with my New Balance *insert coy wink for my funny little play on words*
The strangest part about being wrong is that you don't realize it until it's too late. Sad, but true. If l had stopped to listen to the oh so very many voices of reason while on this tunnel vision express train, I probably wouldn't have F*ed things up...quite so badly. There were warning signs- I ignored. There were beacons of information- I ignored. How about the pony express telegrams I received, but instead of reading, I did what, oh that's right- I ignored them. Hubby says that people need to go through a selfish faze, especially when their goals are as lofty as mine. Here is the problem though. I am double crossing myself. Hedging my bets. By putting in the effort for the things I need to be good at to achieve my goals, I risk losing the things I am already great at. And I don't like that, it feels wrong.
When it feels like the world hates my guts, there is special person I turn to. The man behind the curtain. My Papa B; renowned grump and philosopher. Plus sometimes I just need to talk to my Daddy. As I wept onto my smart phone, my Papa B apologized for giving me his guarded and easily aggravated genes. He is convinced that he is responsible for the not-so-social quirks my Bro and I share. Which are many and widely varied. This might explain why the only person the 3 of us really trust is my Momma. I know he's wrong about giving me all my quirks cuz I got a few from my Momma as well. But where things really go wrong is when the two gene pools collide. My Papa B's shrouded mystery with my Momma's need to shout it from the rooftops. My Papa B's grumpiness with my Momma's need to please. Papa B took an hour on a windy almost winter day to talk me down from a lonely breezy, freezing ledge and what I needed to hear most was the last thing he said: "No matter how wrong you are. If you apologize and mean it, there will always be time to right what you've wronged, if that's what you want." And I want to. Living life right is about maintenance, it takes work. You're never wrong for wanting to better yourself. But there is a right way to do it. As for their genes, they may never fit me and look flattering. But my Mom's genes will sure look good with my New Balance *insert coy wink for my funny little play on words*
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