I messed up again.
I mean, is it the biggest deal in the world? Probably not. And do I really feel bad about it? Probably not.
But I did. I said I wouldn't. No. I went as far as to promise that I wouldn't. But I did. Did I do what I promised that I wouldn't do? Not really. But I went just far enough with it to where I fractured that promise. Kinda.
Why so vague? Because it really doesn't matter what I did. We all screw up all the time. We all do things that we know we probably shouldn't do and yet, we do them because in that moment, man, it's great.
But life calls back. Again and again. Until we finally answer the phone and have to deal with the shouting on the other end. You know, I don't like being shouted at. I don't like the screaming when it's in an anger/frustration kind of setting. I don't. I like it to be spelled out to me, laced with christian guilt, and frosted with a dollop of constructive criticism. That's what I need. But I've been watching a lot of the Real Housewives of Atlanta lately, and shouting has become very appealing to me.
You know what's the worst thing in the world? And the best thing in the world? All rolled into one thing? "I trust you." Shoot me in the face. Just shoot me. It's the best thing in the world that someone would tell you that, to have that sort of vocal confidence in you that edifies you and makes you feel ten feet tall. But at the same time, that verbal sentence can seem like a prison sentence into a set of wooden emotional stockades.
So there it is. Except I don't feel like I am in stockades. No. I feel free. Free to make my own decisions for the first time in many many years. Decisions that may be right or wrong, good or bad, helpful or harmful. But I can make them. Just me. And that is highly liberating.