This is the only article I've read of yours - so far. I love your humor; your style; your honesty. I suppose we all have regrets, but unless we use them as motivation for change, they'll just keep haunting us. It has taken me over 60 years to finally have something encouraging to say to my younger self. Will she listen?
ONE-LINE PROMPT RESPONSES: I re-arranged the order to make a little arc.
When I first left my career, I beat myself up like it was my new job, clocking in and out for something less than minimum wage.
Years before, when all the shouldas, wouldas, and couldas wagged their pointy fingers and cackled at my poor choices, I stood quiet and took the blame. And yet.
Against all odds, I am living in the very place I used to watch roll by from the backseat of my grandfather's car, living the life I made--not the one "they" thought I should have, not the one I would have chosen back then, or the one I could have settled for.
That cacophony of the world hollering it’s expectations, right?! Thank you for sharing. I feel inspired to write some letters to versions of me. And to move ever more toward gentling my treatment of those versions. ❤️
This is the only article I've read of yours - so far. I love your humor; your style; your honesty. I suppose we all have regrets, but unless we use them as motivation for change, they'll just keep haunting us. It has taken me over 60 years to finally have something encouraging to say to my younger self. Will she listen?
Oh, my heart. Thank you for taking the time to leave this comment. Regrets are opportunities in disguise. ❤️☘️
ONE-LINE PROMPT RESPONSES: I re-arranged the order to make a little arc.
When I first left my career, I beat myself up like it was my new job, clocking in and out for something less than minimum wage.
Years before, when all the shouldas, wouldas, and couldas wagged their pointy fingers and cackled at my poor choices, I stood quiet and took the blame. And yet.
Against all odds, I am living in the very place I used to watch roll by from the backseat of my grandfather's car, living the life I made--not the one "they" thought I should have, not the one I would have chosen back then, or the one I could have settled for.
That cacophony of the world hollering it’s expectations, right?! Thank you for sharing. I feel inspired to write some letters to versions of me. And to move ever more toward gentling my treatment of those versions. ❤️
Writing is a way to hear ourselves think. Yes, be gentle with yourself.