I’m 26 and I’ve lived a life once over. I’ve been across the country several times. I’ve been married. I’ve done things I’m not proud of and done thing I have been proud of.
Gmac told me nearly a year ago I’m too hard on myself. I am… I was.
What gnaws at me is the things I haven’t done.
It hasn’t been an easy life, but it hasn’t been a hard one either. Call it survivor’s guilt. Call it easy man’s guilt. I hold myself to a higher standard I believe I can never meet.
With all the steps I’ve taken: growing, maturing, anger, hate, forgiveness of her, of everyone who’s wronged me… the last step has always been truly, fully and completely forgiving myself. Forgiving myself of all the missed chances, the laziness, the pain I’ve brought on myself and the messes I make, unwilling to clean up fast enough.
I can meet it. I can overcome it. I can destroy it.
Some men never reach that point. The redeemed are watched on TV, fictionalized for masses to eat up before sighing and returning to reality. They hate it. They never think they can make it their reality. They are fools.
They can. I can. You can.
All it takes is the will to stand up, reach out and move that one piece of trash out of your way. It starts there. Soon, another piece, then another, until the way is clear. And the last vestiges of melancholy and regret has vanished. And all that is left is you, a soul of pure muscle.