My mistake…


My own mistakes were never really an option growing up. It was slightly odd, having swathes of freedom in many ways, but steered and guided heavily in others.

Decisions that would protect me, set me up for the future in business or a career. They seemed to make sense at the time. I didn’t know any better. Not certain I had the space to know. Maybe none of us knew. Our parents; our guiding light, our source of knowledge, the ones we elevate to hero status and then, we realise they are only human too. That’s my experience at least.

There came a point, not so long ago, I began pushing back, questioning these decisions, whether they were right for me or rather right in someone else’s opinion or expectation and view of the world.

History cannot be rewritten. I don’t wish it to be. None of it. My life is, and has been, colourful and rich with diverse experiences. Some cultivated for me and others I have nurtured and grown myself.

The present and the future is being written. As I’ve matured, maybe, found my own way, I draw great pleasure in taking accountability for every choice that I make and the resulting consequences.

It liberates me. No one else to blame but myself. I reflect on those previous decisions that I was guided to; they were all part of my course and I’m grateful for them, even if I wasn’t aware at the time or afterwards.

I examine the spectrum of my ‘successes’ and ‘failures’ as a result of my choices. Those words come to have less and less meaning to me. Merely, attachment to a future outcome. Often beyond our control anyhow.

Is that how success is appointed? Whether the outcome is achieved. What if the outcome exceeds the expectation or different, is it more of a success? If the expected outcome is less or different, is it a failure? What’s it measured against and who makes the call?

For my decisions, I do. No one else. The outcomes are mine. I enjoy and learn from everyone of them, whatever place they take on the spectrum. This whole life one big spectrum