Let This Be the Year....

Let this be the year of the rough draft,
the year your pen caught fire and moved
across the page faster than you could keep up.

Let this be the year when you 

slink out from under all of the
Things You Should Be Accomplishing
and indulge in long, slow 

walks along the beach,
watching movies all afternoon,
putting off onerous chores 

until you feel like it
(which might be never. 

There is always that possibility.)

When those thoughts come upon you 

and stab you with the memories of times 

when you were not yet evolved
and you cringe at the memory 

of things said and done out of 
Your Great Unknowing, 

rather than flagellate yourself with
a muttered “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”, 

let this be the year when you

grant yourself some compassion, 

as you would for anyone else,
and say “I wasn’t whole then. 

I wasn’t healed. 

I didn’t know.”

Here’s what I forgot to tell you:
no one ever expected you to be perfect.
They only hoped you would not be harmed
and, in turn, would do the least amount 

of harm possible.
Let this be the year 

when the last 40 years of your living
hopefully make up for the first 30: 

the kindnesses shown, the gifts of time given,
the encouraging words, the support,
all to repay the many times 

you may have failed before.

Sometimes the words 

fall out of your mouth
with a life of their own. 

I remember the time when
the words dried up on my tongue.
“Do you still love me?”
he asked, as he had asked so many times,
for my reassurance.
But this time the words 

would not come,
so I gave him a silent hug, 

and he knew it was over.

I remember that small courtyard, 

the evening, the silence,
him telling me at the gate as he left
that he had really loved me.

Going into my house, 

free from the weight of his loving.

Day twenty-five of Wild Writing with Laurie Wagner