The word of
life the day is: mistake.
I come face to face with mistakes more than I’d like to admit. In fact, they stalk my life worse than anything DJ Pauly D has ever encountered on The Shore. Today, I made the mistake of eating five chocolate dipped macaroons before going on an impromptu run outside. Let’s just say I haven’t felt a stomach cramp like that since, well, ever. And the other day, I drank coffee after 3 P.M., unaware that I have the same internal workings as an 80-year-old woman. I couldn’t fall asleep for days. Not to mention, I had terrible heartburn.
But my mistakes don’t only involve internal bodily harm. The truth is, lately I’ve been behaving in weird, mysterious and dumb ways. I’ve partied on the occasional weekday. I went running back to a guy that didn’t deserve even the time it takes to bat an eyelash in his direction. I stopped working out because I thought eating less would make me happier.
Mistake, mistake, big (literally) mistake.
And while these self-inflicted issues continue to frolic my way, I always have that small glitter of reassurance. Reassurance in knowing that (even though I’ve learned the hard way), I’ll never do it again. Hands on experiences and mistakes are always the best, right? Once I learn the hard way, I learn. I learn to never make the same mistake twice. Right?
Wait, why is no one answering me?
Am I right?!
And I’m not just talking about binge eating mini-macaroons before I go on a “run” around the block. As much as I’d like to believe it, Justin Bieber‘s song, ‘One Time’ was NOT dedicated to the number of times I’d mess up. (It was also not dedicated to the amount of times I’d listen to Justin Bieber on repeat.) The hard truth is, I’m not an invincible superwoman that has the ability to make mistakes only once. Not at all.
Before I graduated and before I started messing up time and again, I thought I had them all figured out. I thought I’d learned my lessons. I’d had enough hung over Thursdays in college to know that drinking boxed wine at midnight on a Wednesday was not my best idea. And ever since I woke up one morning in college to a guy actually farting on my leg, I knew needed to screen potential suitors more seriously.
Yet here I am, a year later, making those same stupid mistakes again (well, the new guy isn’t farting on me, exactly, but he is acting like a piece of crap), and hating myself for it.
And it’s got to end.
Even though I am going down the wrong path yet again, I need to stop mentally beating myself up (“Why are you so stupid, Brittany? YOU ARE A COLLEGE GRAD!”) and realize that recycling mistakes might not be such a bad thing.
Remember that quote, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me?” Well, I hate it. And not just because George Bush botched it so badly in that one speech that one time. It’s just way too much pressure for one human being. So what if I go back for more? Maybe I’m just double checking to make sure a previous mistake wasn’t going to be a future glorious experience. Maybe this time around things will be different.
We live in a society where making mistakes multiple times makes us look naive, stupid and insecure, but I’ve come to learn that it doesn’t need to be that way. I mean, I’m already fragile and emotional enough; I don’t need yet another thing to beat myself up about. At the end of the day, I am only human; there is no way I can waltz through life only messing up once.
If I did, what would I be missing out on?
The word of