The Past

“Do you say that to all your lady friends?” she asked me, as the wind spills out of my fully charged sails. I spend a moment to gather myself. My momentary eloquence dashed by a single typed line. In one heartbeat, I am pleased with the admission of my raw, honest feelings and in the next I am tormented by the folly of past mistakes.

A tiny sorority of cruel idiots and liars, each one more wrong for me than the next, my past haunts me . I stumble and fumble for words that don’t sound like the well rehearsed machinations of an experienced player. I am left with no options. You see, things really are not the same as they’ve been in the past, and I really haven’t said the thing I’ve just muttered to anyone before. I have only the truth and a prayer for its acceptance at my disposal. I am tasked with the heroic challenge of explaining that which on its surface may seem unbelievable.

In the midst of all this, I cannot fault her for her doubts. A healthy skepticism is a quality I’ve been looking for in a mate. How can I then bring myself to blame the doubter? At a certain point in our years we accumulate enough mistakes so that it becomes as natural to doubt as it does to breathe. We can no longer accept things at face value without lying to ourselves. It is just not an option for anyone who aspires to live beyond the everyday hypocrisies. Everything must be measured and considered before actions become appropriate. This is just our human condition.

My strained effort to explain the uniqueness of our relationship seems to satisfy her, though both of us know full well that time and actions are the only trees that bear real fruit. I breathe a sigh of relief as I dodge the spectre of my past, and I find the truth does actually set you free.

As the days pass I remain perplexed, however, with how to put my past in perspective. Getting bogged down and paralyzed with regret doesn’t seem to be a fruitful course of action, but neither does forgetting about it and acting like it never happened. It isn’t a worry, but a question that lingers in the back of my mind. “In what perspective should I view my past?”

Then from across the cubicles comes an answer. One coworker comforts another as I sit there half listening, “You’ve got a right to get past your past.” The answer seems so clear as if it were being spoken directly to me and my unanswered question. It occurs to me that I have that right too.