The 43

Nobody's perfect. We all make mistakes. We all have regrets. We all wish we can have do-overs. We all wish we can forget the screw-ups. Unless someone is completely incorrigible, humans carry at least a little shame and guilt with them. Learning from your mistakes makes you grow, but sometimes, forgetting the mistake is difficult. It can linger, re-emerging once in a while, reminding you that you should have acted differently, acted at all, or just shut up instead of saying something stupid. Many years ago, I started counting up the self-embarrassments that were torturing me. I didn't tabulate these moments all at once, but after a few months, I had reached around 100 instances. I rounded to the even century and called it "the hundred." As I accumulated this mental list, I realized, most of the shame-inducing incidents were before I was 25, and even then, before I was 18. I also committed to stop dwelling on the past miscues. If one popped back into my mind, I would s...

My evenings the past few months have not been conducive to writing. I seem to be cramming in an extra hour or two of work after dinner, and it hasn't quite warmed up enough to write outside just yet. There's been some lethargy, too -- I need to think of topics to write about, or even simply write about the day or the week. So tonight, without any work and the dog already walked (just around the block, she's got a scrape on her shoulder that I hope scabs over soon), I came out the front porch to write. I don't have a topic. And I'm thinking one isn't coming to me tonight. I went through my closet today, took out about 35 items, and organized it a little better. I did some yardwork, then grilled hot dogs for dinner. Recorded two old "American Top 40" episodes from the internet. Went for a long walk without the dog -- she looked at me so sadly when I got back.  I'm ready to run and work out this week, and try to eat decently. I've actually not bee...