I believe in forgiving myself. I believe that it’s impossible for me to make progress while letting my mistakes remain irredeemable failures. I remember sitting down to dinner with my family one night, years ago. I was maybe twelve at the time. I sat cross-legged on the floor, my plate of pasta on the coffee table in front of me. Perhaps I didn’t feel worthy to join my parents on the couch that night. Before we dug into the meal, mom wanted to say grace. She began, and when there was an ample pause, tears welled up in my eyes. “God, please forgive me,” I interjected, barely choking out the words. My parents assured me that He already had, that there was nothing to worry about. But the tears kept coming. Half an hour before dinner, my mom, my sister, and I had been taking our boxer for a walk. As we exited the forest and entered into the neighborhood park, I began to lag behind. Mom noticed. “Catch up, Nic!” she yelled. So I did. In the hours after, I would ask myself again and again why I didn’t stop, why I thought the course of action I followed was acceptable. Why I thought it would be funny. I ran, and I ran. I flew past mom and Katie, and I ran through the park and down the street, down the path through the trees, past the townhouses. I ran all the way home. When I went inside, I found my father on the phone. He turned to look at me as I opened the door. “He’s here,” he said into the handset before hanging up. He explained to me that I had scared my mom—who had no idea where I was running to—half to death, and that she had called home, frantic, trying to think of places where I could have gone. I was crushed. I had failed the people I loved most in all the world. Even my Creator could not console me, could not cleanse me of the guilt. Or at least, I refused to let Him. This was just one of many instances throughout my life when I chose angst and self-loathing over forgiveness. It was childish and stubborn for me to refuse comfort in these moments, especially over something so trivial, and I knew it—still, I couldn’t find it in me to accept what others offered repeatedly. I couldn’t garner a pardon for myself. Instead, I let the tears fall.
I can’t pinpoint a particular time when this began to improve, but change came with experience. Successive screw-ups were met with constant reassurances from family members and friends, and often I was the only one blaming me. My parents consistently encouraged me to get back in the saddle after failing, so as not to become disenchanted. There was another incident in the parking lot of the local library. I had just a learner’s permit at the time, and I was easing my way out of the parking space when I misjudged the space between my car and the parked one in front of me--thunk. I pulled back into the parking spot, heart racing. There wasn’t much of a visible dent on the car I had hit. Still, it was a slow burn as I sat in the passenger’s seat, twiddling my fingers, while mom exchanged information with the car’s owner. My mind kept circling back to familiar thoughts of self-deprecation. I asked mom to drive back instead of me, and then the tears came. “I’m so sorry,” I kept repeating, wallowing in a chorus of self-pity. At last, mom pulled into the parking lot of a TD Ameritrade. “Alright, get out. You’re going to drive the rest of the way home.” She insisted. So, after putting up a good fight, I resigned myself to being once again behind the wheel, piloting the instrument of my failure. At first there was silence, forced focus on the road with no conversation to accompany it. I was, after all, a worthless driver who would, no doubt, need every bit of focus he could muster just to keep from killing us both in a fiery accident. Rational thought is a foreign concept in the immediate aftermath. However, I lightened up at last, trying my hand at smalltalk with the woman I had distanced myself from so rapidly. I began to ease back into a state of comfort when I was driving. Above all, I recognized how I would never let myself make the same mistake again. At last, I saw past the wall of regret I had built, looking beyond to the possibility of learning from the incident. Over time, getting back in the driver’s seat after all of my mistakes helped me to turn absolute failures into teachable missteps.
The next step for the forgiveness I found was to extend it not only to myself, but to others as well. I had experienced firsthand the damage that dwelling on a mistake without finding forgiveness can do, and the last thing I wanted was for someone else to have to go through that. So, I resolved to pardon wherever possible. When a friend does something to offend me, or otherwise make me feel wronged, I do everything I can to offer them forgiveness. Society could use a dose of forgiveness. The way that many conduct themselves in a disagreement is to drive home their point irrespective of what the other side has to say. Rhetorical listening is, sadly, often in short supply. Forgiveness could be a boon to communication, helping to shake any residual attitudes towards another person and focus on their point. In a sense, most people could stand to “forgive” others for holding a stance they disagree with, rather than simply yelling at one another because they don’t like what the opposition stands for. It could help to open the eyes of opponents, allowing them to really see one another and be willing to hear the viewpoint of the other side. There are, however, difficult cases appearing in the news constantly. It seems that with each new day, headlines herald a new act of depravity that has been committed somewhere. A student gunned down seventeen in a recent school shooting in Florida. Harvey Weinstein, ubiquitous Hollywood mogul, sexually harassed and assaulted dozens of young actresses over the course of years, and the revelations of these attacks unleashed a storm of accusations against leagues of powerful men charged with similar offenses. I can’t imagine how victims of these tragedies, or their families, can forgive men who do such disgusting things. However, they must move forward eventually. While it’s natural to want to scream at someone who commits such an inhuman act, holding onto that kind of rage toward a person can be damaging. Focusing on hatred can send a message of shaming rather than one of change. In contrast, it’s inspiring to look at the surprising reactions of people close to the victims of some tragedies. I’m reminded of what the sister of a man killed in a 2015 shooting said to the perpetrator of the crime. After the shooter gunned down her brother in a Charleston church just for the color of his skin, she told him, “We have no room for hating, so we have to forgive. I pray God on your soul.” The response is inspiring; the woman clung to faith rather than falling into cynical scorn. Such forgiveness helps the change that needs to happen… happen. In instances like these, society is usually the one who needs to grow through its failure. All too often, societal issues contribute to these tragedies, and forgiving the person behind the gun or the assault helps to shine the light on those issues so future atrocities can be prevented.
As for what this creed means to me moving forward, my future is sure to be wrought with trials. Finding the career path that’s right for me will not be easy, and there will be many mistakes along the way. I might try my hand at something for years only to find that it doesn’t feed my passion like another job might. In those instances, I’ll be faced with a choice: I could kick myself for deciding on that job in the first place and wasting so much time on it; or, alternatively, I could focus on the positive experiences I had trying out that first job, and what I learned through the experience. I intend to strive towards the latter. Similarly, my first crack at a career I love might not be up to my standards (which, admittedly, tend toward perfectionistic). However, I just have to allow myself the failures that will develop the skills that yield my successes. Because success is the end result. It just takes a couple hundred lessons learned to get there.
Sources Used
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