I realize how difficult it is to be human together, to relate to one another, especially when language and culture creates barriers that make us falter, stumble, thread carefully, for fear of harming, of confusing, of misunderstanding.
It’s not a great feeling, to be accused of wrong-doing. But each is entitled to their view, and as their experiences are shaped by their current state-of-mind, I am the first to see beyond my initial reaction, and spot the world view underlying the accusation.
Knowing I don’t set out to harm, to expose, to do wrong. I don’t. I might do it, anyway, because of my own fallibility, exposed to situations new to me, unsure of what’s the best route ahead. Finding my way, slowly, as if I was stepping barefoot into a stream, threading on sharp rocks, carefully making my way forward. Sometimes needing to retrace my steps, because the path ahead turned out to be a dead-end, filled with sharp stones I cannot make my way across. Hurting, cold water, cuts and bruises from the stones, and yet. I keep on walking. There’s nothing else to do. I have come to far to turn back, and yet, I have not come far enough to actually see the light at the end… Not knowing what my next step is, I pause, gather myself, and while exhaling, gently feel my way forward, inch by inch, all the while trying, still, to stick to my core value: wanting to make a positive imprint, to make a difference.
The older I get the more I realize the importance of grounding myself in what that means. For me. Finding out, by trial and error, what it entails. How I do it. How do I make a difference? How do I make a positive imprint? Learning from my mistakes, fine-tuning actions and intentions, being ever more precise in my language, minimizing the risk for mishaps and misunderstandings. But never seizing to act. Never to stop doing, for fear of doing wrong, of standing accused. I’d rather do, and be accused, than not do, and risk ending up at the end of life, regretting what I did not do, when I could have; regretting not speaking my truth, when I had the opportunity.
So here I stand, accused, knowing I would do it again if I had the chance.
I might do it slightly different, but not for the fear of being accused of wrong-doing, but for what I have learned in the process.