6 March 2006
What I've really lost is my humility.
It's fairy-tale-like, remembering back. I had a healthy sense of shame. I knew what felt wrong, even if I didn't know why, and I just didn't do those things. And I remember the gratification that comes from decisions like that.
It took me years to learn to admit when I had misjudged, at least out loud, to face the people I'd hurt. But all honest mistakes...mostly. The seed was always there. Once, I decided I could be both things, be both kinds of people. I justified it by looking around and watching who was successful at this or that. The key thing I missed was that neither this nor that were the things I wanted to be successful at. None of those people were really the kind of person I was trying to be. But I sacked the Gardener anyway, and the Seed flourished.
Now look at the grounds: still with promise, silent with potential. Silent. And overgrown. The stone bridges over the brooks that once ran here are cracked and dangerous. The trellis that supported a budding vine in childhood is weather-beaten. The house, standing as alone as it always has, though still a home, is not the manor I once envisioned.
I call this life, and some days I am ashamed for it.