I love words. The more the better. If you can string a sentence creatively and eloquently, you will have me hanging on your every thought.
But sometimes, less is more. This is especially true during those ‘my heart feels so heavy, I need a crane to lift me out of bed’ times.
The crane’s name is SORRY.
The easiest word, yet the hardest to say and the one that you know, in all likelihood, will probably put an end to the WW3 in your life or at least, temporarily ceasefire to commence peace talks. If you still stuff up after that, God help you.
There’s something about a heartfelt apology of this one word. When uttered with real emotion, when you can see the remorse in their eyes or hear it in their voice, you’ll feel it in your heart, and you’ll recognise it as the missing piece to your peace. No further explanation is required. And at that moment, the anchor weighing down your heart, miraculously becomes a helium balloon.
But SORRY is like an amusement ride ticket. Ideally, you should only use it once on the same ride. If you try to be a freeloader again and again, you’ll just get kicked out.
And if you find yourself unceremoniously outside that gate, you’ll probably bump into the villain of conflict resolution, EGO. You might have seen him around. The over stated, under achiever who’s all talk and bling.
Not only will he take you to the depths of the earth and convince you that you’re on higher ground, but he’ll also leave you with a photo album chronicling every supposed victimising situation in your life. What does he care for the truth? The only thing that matters to him is the illusion you believe.
And so you arrive at one of those defining moments, even if you can’t hear the drumroll. In hindsight you’ll recognise the distinct before and the after. It’s always 20/20 vision then. You’ll clearly see that line in the sand, drawn with permanent marker and which you then crumpled and stuffed into your heart pocket. To either love or loathe.
Will you choose the precipice of change called You v2.0 or will you crawl back into the familiar habit hole with your disaster, checking the time.
Consequence or credit? The choice is always yours.