There are days that you shoot out of the gate at top speed, a perfect gallop, perfect form. Just when you're making good time, you trip and end up riding crooked in the saddle for the rest of the race. By the time you spot the finish line, you're bucked clear off and dragged the rest of the way. You curse your steed, you blame the muddy terrain and the occasional pothole and the groom who failed to handle the tack properly. But you know it, in your gut, that feeling, when things go wrong, that if you raise your eyes, they will all be shaking their heads and concord that you failed... again. No matter how you look at it, every spill is an indictment of your inadequacy.
So today, I found the courage to let go of the reins. It is time I brush off the dust and spit out the dirt collected in the ungraceful career toward the finish line and step out of the hippodrome.
I had a choice. As I looked back at the day, I chose to see the bends I leaned into, when, gripping firmly with my knees, I stayed on course. I remembered the obstacles I skillfully dodged and the ones that shook me, yet didn't throw me. Sure, I lost it and had my fit, you can call it royal if you want, but I chose to see what I did right and gave myself grace for the rest.
Grace didn't erase the mistakes, I've got the scars to prove it. I'm not proud of them, and I'm still responsible for them. However, Grace said, "Your mistakes don't define you."
While sitting with my tea, after all the tack has been hung back in place and the world is a little quieter, I realize the power of that grace. If I can give grace to myself, I find it easier to give it to others, to be more patient, to love more, to read beyond the bluster. I have a hunch it has to do with relaxing the grip on those reins and dropping the faulty axiom that one's value is directly proportional to how much one accomplishes on any given day without a hair out of place.
It's time for sleep, this day has worn me slick.
I'm showing up again tomorrow.
