Mistake Anyone?

We are told the best way to learn is to make mistakes..........then why are we always so worried about making them?

I don't like to make a mistake; at least what I call a mistake. Perhaps I was taught 'mistake=failure'.

Fear is probably the main reason we try to avoid making mistakes and we are taught very early on to 'run-for-your-life' when you spot fear.

Oh, the many faces of fear..........

Faced with the dilemma of what to wear Sarah picked the soft baggy sweats and the rodeo t-shirt. Just before she walked out the door though a tap on the shoulder said "What is everyone going to think if you walk in to the party dressed this way?" That little tap on the shoulder came from somewhere deep inside; the place that wonders if the choice Sarah made is the right one or if it is a mistake.........a mistake that might allow other people to pass judgement and 'gossip' about her. In the end fear wins; Sarah decides, even though the sweats are the most comfortable, she will find something else to wear....something others will not point at, pick at, and talk about.

A friend brings a proposal for Simon's consideration; 'to borrow money using his house as collateral' in order to invest in a business venture he and two others are considering. The money will be paid back at a very high interest rate and Simon stands to gain substantial return on his investment including a share in a lucrative business should everything go according to plan. After spending many hours thinking about it fear again wins; Simon decides although he may profit handsomely, there is also the chance he could lose his home if the venture is not successful; he doesn't want to make a mistake that will result in the loss of his house.

Fear......we fear what others think; we fear losing something of value; we fear consequences; we fear being hurt; we fear hurting others; we fear being wrong or feeling embarrassed; we fear that someone is better than we are; we fear the expense of a mistake; we fear failure; we fear the cost in terms of money, lives or injury..........we fear, we fear. So I wonder..........is making mistakes really a good route to learning?

I'm wondering, if it is said that making a mistake is the best way to learn, is it because making a mistake can leave such traumatic results that the person making the mistake can forever be scarred from having made the stupid blunder...............? Of course one won't repeat a mistake like that and it could be said 'you have learned' something from it, but at what cost? Examining all the possibilities we realize sometimes learning can hurt. While it is true, we do learn when we make a mistake.........are there better ways to learn?

On the Edge

"I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center."                                             - Kurt Vonnegut

Wisdom to live by.......so long as we remember the risk involved in living on the edge, even if we think we are staying far enough back that we won't go over.

They said I was living on the edge but I had no idea how that could make any possible sense; I was living in order to enjoy the days allotted to me; I believed an opportunity missed was time lost, not to be recovered.......ever. I wanted to experience every situation presented to me and even some I had to search out.

It was time; heat of day was beginning to rest for the evening; birds were perching in the trees to listen to the peace; sounds of the countryside were quieting; an amazing, vibrant sky slowly built; breezes calmed. Nothing matched the calm or the feelings evoked from this time; days end. The few clouds still floating would soon be concealed by the skies belonging to the setting sun; in the mean time they billowed overhead with a golden hue and a mystery unparalleled.

There was only one place to witness the beauty of this picture and as quickly as I could dawn my hat, I wasted no time getting there. At first I stood atop the peak gazing across the landscape, just taking in the beauty before me; the peace; the smell; the color. Before long I was on the very edge, lost in the magic of this scene; all life seemed insignificant compared to the setting sun I was gazing at. The golden orange glow grew with each passing moment; the clouds mingled and became one with the colors, shapes changed as I looked on; the sun dropped almost quickly enough to see its movement. Mesmerized with the beauty of the glowing fireball, my thoughts began to examine the paradox I might be missing.

It was beginning to crumble away from beneath me as I sat transfixed with the sight to the west of our little village; such reality, yet surreal; such beauty, yet subordinate; so bright, yet sobering; so glorious, yet normal; so powerful, yet delicate. How could one circumstance create such abounding contradiction? Not paying attention to where I sat, the earth silently crumbled away and I found myself sliding down the mountainside, slowly sinking;  being covered with the rocks and debris coming behind me. I remember thinking on the way down "Wow what a ride I have had on the edge" as I sank deeper and deeper and knew I would soon be buried.

Time Waits

(SWP Dec 17, 2011)

Soft as a feather; it remains a touch I will feel and a picture painted in my mind for all time. It was love; it was trust; it was friendship; it was hope; it was the tiny hand of a beautiful baby placed inside mine. Tiny little fingers with baby creases and dimples to match lay upon my own fingers, they with a slightly more mature feel and stature, strong enough to hold hers, with a promise to support her forever, whatever music her tiny fingers chose to play. She played, in fact conducted, a many stringed orchestra with melodies fit for ears of the angels; sometimes, because I heard only the noise, I missed the melodious sounds we could have danced to. It seems I broke the promise I made to that tiny, alluring, faithful little hand whose trust was placed with me.

The time has passed.

Soft still; I feel the trusting little hand inside mine as we cross the street together. Still playing those melodious sounds; still sometimes missing them because I chose to hear only the noise; it is my greatest wish to cross the street again……….together.

That time too has passed.

Years went quickly by as life tried to steal the warmth from my soul; that beautiful little hand was there to replace it, now conducting a symphony for the songs of the angels. Again and unaware, I sometimes missed the beauty of the sounds, instead hearing only the noise.

If I could only hear the sounds again but that time also has passed.

That tiny little hand, although it grew with the years, can no longer lie upon mine; can no longer make beautiful music I can listen to (now that I have learned to hear it instead of only the noise); no longer depends on me for support. If only I could feel its warmth inside mine.

It now sings with the angels; its time has passed.

Time, with me, waits to hear the melodies and feel the softness once again of that little hand.

Happy Valentines Day

To all those

near and dear to me

Happy

Valentines

Day

2013

Written in the Memories

Written in the memories of my heart, it stands still, strong and durable, capable of enduring the wildest wind and weather, a symbol of the people who built it, rugged, brave and tenacious. Standing now for almost a hundred years this magnificent symbol should be preserved and protected from the destruction of the progress threatening all of society. Offering warmth and shelter to all the animals of this farmland the red barn (a typical country picture of years past) welcomes still, any who may need its protection.

Strong bright red paint slightly pealed near the edges reflects the pride of Jacob and Sarah, the farmer and his wife who tended the grains and animals on this homestead. The roof (where Sally and little Jake used to sit and watch as the sun would sink below the horizon most evenings) shows ever such slight wear; as though it were only put up yesterday. Actually it was put up yesterday; the yesterday of our heritage.

As I walk the path towards the warmth and welcome of this old barn my mind wanders to a time of solitude and peace; when neighbors were friends; when friends held out a hand; when the hand meant to offer help. Lonely among the furrows where the wheat used to grow it nestles close to the comfort of one lone tree rustling in the soft breeze. Just off in the distance a forest of trees; a haven for the wildlife who often came to visit close to the barn where they were usually welcomed with a drink and perhaps a small warning if mischief was their intention.

The closer I get the louder becomes the meowing of the barn cats as they used to line up for their squirt at milking time, the chickens as they scratch and search, the cows as they are chewing, the horses as they swish their tails, the piglets in play. The barn-smells wafting across the breeze to my nostrils remind me of a yesterday long gone; long gone but never forgotten; placed lovingly in the recesses of my memories; stored for just such an occasion; at hand whenever a walk back in time seemed to pull me; at hand whenever I needed reminding of the important things in life.

Written in the memories of my heart

Just One More Week

(SWP Feb 05, 2011)

I sat gazing out the window of the little house that had been my home for the past six months looking at nothing in particular; just staring outside thinking; thinking about life beyond the very tall wired fence that now surrounded me; what I would do when I was allowed to go beyond the gates of this god-awful place I had gotten myself into; what would be the very first thing I would eat; what would be the very first thing I said to the wide open spaces beyond this prison house; what I would say to the person responsible for my being here. The minutes slowly passed. This daydream had become a ritual at this time every afternoon for the past week as I counted the days until my parole hearing. It was next Tuesday at 3:00 pm; my parole hearing. Would I finally be free from the constantly bickering women who seemed to live for any kind of drug they could get smuggled inside; free from the constant pressure from those same women trying to get me to “just try it”; free from the advances of the lesbians looking for a partner; free from the psychologists who continually tried to get me to admit I did something wrong and felt sorry for it. I shuddered myself back to reality as I heard the door open and another inmate from our little house entered. She was the only person I had been able to talk to throughout my stay here and unfortunately for her, she would most likely be here for a long time yet, her crime somewhat more serious than what I had been found guilty of.

She came over to me; I faced her rather wistful smile.  “Well Sadie you have only another week here. Though I can’t in good heart say I am sorry to see you go” she said, “I will truly miss you and little Tanner.” I hugged Savannah.

As if on cue when hearing his name little Tanner stirred and made this noise that said “I’m awake now, please come pick me up.”

Smiling at the sound I quickly went to little Tanner’s crib and gently lifted him and held him close. Tanner was my ray of sunshine in an otherwise hopeless situation; my inspiration to make the best plan for my release. I felt such shame at having brought him into the world under these circumstances but I couldn't change that now.

Somehow I needed to decide what I would do when I got out of this hell-hole; put the experience behind me and try to move on or seek revenge in some way. Seeking revenge seemed to have my attention most of the time because I just wanted to get even for having been unjustly charged and because the guilty party just let me fry. Tanner was the only thing that kept me from a final decision of seeking revenge on who had become my most hated acquaintance. 

As I sat down (still holding Tanner close), I picked up the daily newspaper. The front page shocked me speechless. There staring at me was a very familiar face under the headline “Fatal Crash Kills Driver” with further highlights “Crash leads to discovery of drug house  near Stattler Creek Road”.

I had contemplated finding her; seeking revenge in some manner. I spent long nights dreaming up ways to get back at her. I could quite easily have found out where she had gone. If not for feeling sorry for her and wanting to help her, I wouldn't be in this predicament. After all I had done for her she ran away and left me ‘holding the bag’ (as the saying goes); and quite literally ‘holding the bag’……..of stolen money; money she had taken from proceeds of the sale of the Lions Club raffle tickets. Unfortunately I was unable to prove the money was in my possession by mistake and had to take the rap. Thinking back on it now I was quite convinced this was not the first such incident she had been involved in. It was clear to me now she had taken advantage of me and manipulated my sensitivity.

This news changed things but also took away any possibility that I could ever clear my name. I guess I would just have to live with that.

Looking down at the bundle in my arms I smiled and for the first time was satisfied with the direction my life would be going. With a lighter heart I felt more confident about the parole hearing. Next Tuesday could not come soon enough for me and little baby Tanner. Just one more week.

Wild and Free

(SWP Jun 25, 2011)

He is wild and free, to ride is forbidden but I long to feel the wind in my hair, the exhilaration of speed.  exhilarationexexexee                      exhilarationexHe is wild & free and to ride is forbidden but I long to feel the wind in my hair, the  exhilarationexexexee                      exhilarationex 

The open road is freedom.

(Here is my poem about being wild and free with the wind.)

A Ride On The Wind

I was hitching a ride one day

going some place far far away

I waited a while as the day passed

thinking to hurry get there fast

The cars drove by me standing there

nobody wanting this kind of fare

Finally a prospect stopped (friend or foe)

I jumped at the chance just to go

I was taken quickly away from this life

making scarce my burdened strife

I watched a new life unfold that day

riding with the wind on my way

The wind let me drive, the only chance

to see the future unfold in dance

The joy of living unfolded ahead of me

not back where once I wanted to be

I could feel changes blowing on my face

see clearly the lines I could trace

What a glorious discovery I had made

to look ahead watch behind fade

I was in the drivers seat that day a friend and me

The day I hitched a ride with the wind wild and free