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