Occasionally, humans get things wrong. It’s pretty hard for any one person to do everything exactly as he or she should when there are six billion people on the planet, each with their own ideas of what “should” be. Although mistakes are relative--failing to color in the lines could be considered less of a mistake than failing a driver’s test, it’s still disheartening when you make one. And, let’s just be honest: not making mistakes is near impossible. I say near because I don’t want to dissuade you from trying for none. Just make sure you’re not going bald in the process--you know, pulling your hair out from frustration over not being perfect.
After the stick hits the fan, its easy to pick up the pieces and see exactly what went awry...you probably shouldn’t have prodded the moving fan with the end of a stick. But when the idea first occurs to you, when you see those moving blades and then the entertaining thought first marches into your brain, it doesn’t always come with a disclaimer. What will be will be. Que sera, sera. You’re young, you’re invincible. What’s the worst, right? I mean, yeah...this is the time to mess up. Grandly, spectacularly, with finesse and pride. If you fall later, you might break your hip...if you fall now, you’ll probably manage naught more than a scrape. But, do you need to fall to know it hurts? Do you need to take risks with utter disregard? The rhetorical answer is: not necessarily. Living with minimal regrets does require a bit of risk. (Unless everything you want is within arm’s length as you are reading this.) At the same time, it is complete apathy for consequences that gets you into trouble. The thing to remember is that you hold the stick and, you have the power, at least over your attitude.
So I’ve been poking my stick into spinning blades, it’s broken and my father wants to know why, how, and what was I thinking? The first retort that pops into my head is, it was just curiosity...the second thought, it was reckless but it didn’t really hurt anything, and the third sentiment that arrives, a little bit of guilt at disappointing my father. I try to justify things in my head. I hate getting in trouble, it takes so much time and no one ever feels good after. Through these revelations it dawns on me that those pieces on my floor can’t be reassembled so easily that I’m likely to try these shenanigans again...but I know that mistakes happen. I’ll sweep my floor, buy a new stick and move on with one less fan and one more experience.
