Why They Call It the Blues

“Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude."--Martin Luther King Jr.

I don’t have much in common with Elton John, but this weekend the Rocket Man and I were both appearing live in sick city.

For Sir Elton, who told fans that he was “extremely unwell,” it meant canceling the Indianapolis leg of his farewell tour.

For me, who was also pretty goddamn unwell, it meant hacking and sneezing while working from home on Friday and watching my weekend Halloween party plans with my sister blow out like a candle in the wind.

It sucked big time, but I’m trying to extract something good from this extremely crappy turn of events, so I can continue my efforts to make this the Best Year Ever (BYE).

I keep a pretty tight schedule—work, gym, writing class—and this cold has forced me to slow down.

In the last few days, I’ve been watching tons of crap TV, putting off my clean-up plans, and—ugh—eating bread.

I’ve also taken time to detach and observe my thought patterns, as Fred the Shrink likes to say, and I’m a little disappointed with my progress.

I’m still carrying around a lot baggage in my head: old wounds, insults, and disappointments that I review and relive all-too-regularly.

I know I’ve written about this before and please forgive me for being repetitious, but I’m still not getting my own message.

I keep hearing about forgiveness being a path to freedom and while I can accept this concept intellectually, my emotional side is having a hard time forgiving all the scumbags who have done me wrong over the years.

If I forgive them, I feel like I’m letting these humps off the hook, and essentially saying it’s okay to go breaking my heart.

But what has holding onto this grief down for me-except make me more miserable?

“Get over it,” “let it go,” and similar bits of bumper sticker advice haven’t helped me worth a damn.

Above All Else

I’ve decided that what I have to do before I forgive anyone else is to forgive myself: for not defending myself, for letting relationships fall apart, for not being more daring, and for giving into my fears and phobias instead of trusting myself more.

I look back on my life, wondering why the hell I stuck with people and places I despised, and I think the problem was that I didn’t love myself enough to speak up for myself. I didn’t think I was worth defending and I was afraid of the unknown.

But the devil you know is still a devil and he still means you harm.

I go on ad nauseum about moving to Los Angeles, but I could have done that decades ago if I had been serious.

The truth is that I was afraid to make that commitment and then I hated myself for being afraid, thus ensuring that the ugly cycle of self-abuse will continue.

Yes, other people had absolutely no problem moving across the country in their early Twenties, but all I can say is that I’m not other people.

I didn’t have the courage or faith in myself to make that big step. That sucks, but now it’s time to put down the whip and forgive myself.

Self-love will only come after self-forgiveness.

This is a lifelong journey, of course, since you can’t simply obliterate decades of unhealthy thought patterns with a blog post.

But I want to at least start trying to forgive myself and putting the past behind me--instead of letting it running alongside me like a pack of starving bloodhounds.

I’m not a fan of TV preachers, but I do enjoy Joel Osteen’s messages and today--this very morning--he devoted his entire sermon to the perils of bitterness.

He cited a line from Proverbs which says “above all else, guard your heart with all diligence, for everything you do flows from it.”

We should all guard our hearts, monitor our thoughts, and don’t let the sun go down on another bitter day.