And
these principles, to continue from where I left off, only lead to
more high-minded mistakes, which I'm then almost too ashamed to admit
to. That I do admit, somewhat sheepishly, demonstrates that I seek to
be reassured or consoled for my actions, as well as possibly someone
to join in the inner beating from outside.Sometimes I think I would benefit from a strong talking to (or someone telling me what to do) but then I cause myself enough anguish, and nobody I think wants to heap more onto that. Actually, in the moment I probably wouldn't listen. My hackles might instead rise and I might speak with derision, or stiffen, permeate the air with hostility and silently fume, saving my inward rages until out of sight and sound where I could allow my frustrations to boil over. And then further allow them to simmer, under the surface, because they won't be entirely spent until I've analysed what was said in relation to my own behaviour; only after that may I concede that they might have a point. Acknowledgement of it however is rare, and if given is usually inserted flippantly in the next conversation so as not to provide immense satisfaction to the one who had the wisdom to see it but made the unfortunate decision to remark aloud to the very person it concerned.
It's true that principled and honest persons don't like the cruelty of truth when this medicine is applied directly to them, for not all such persons are tactless, some are over-sensitive. It's best to leave us to our own mistakes, for we are as stubborn in making them as we are in taking corrective remedies. Often, we don't unmake or rectify them at all, preferring to do nothing because we're not sure what's right and so doing nothing is preferable, but of course that doesn't stop us bending others' ears.
No action is decidedly better than action that is regretted or later withdrawn at a stage that causes problems (to others) and conflicted emotions (in ourselves) that could have been avoided had no decision been reached or impulse acted upon. And I've done both a few times. Retreating is unpleasant though relief can follow to lessen the blow you might have dealt not only to yourself but to an intermediary, whereas regret is a curse, like that wished upon a new baby by a vengeful sprite. It lingers for days...sometimes longer, even putting in appearances long after the deed's been done, when really you should have moved on.
In some, no all, situations it's difficult to know how culpable you are. How much of a beating do you deserve? Is there any strength in the argument: you were played? Because there's always the responses of another or others to consider. It's never just a one-person show. But if you're unwise it's easy to be tricked without even realising it until you're further in than you would like, and so then when you wake it's not too late but the blame in any change of circumstances is all yours. There'll be no recognition from the other side that maybe, just possibly, they gave you the wrong impression, inaccurate information or could have acted differently. They had a goal, a deadline, and were going to reach it by any conceivable means, and you just happened to be there. Not quite right, but not a mismatch either.
You, however, come off worse, because of the type of person you are: always taking things not on the chin but upon yourself. The mistrust (of yourself), the doubt sets in. The positives, if there were some, pale, as do the instinctive and euphoric-type feelings that determined the weighing-up process. Should you not have listened to your internal discourse on the matter?
Why do this when it's gone? And when, regardless of your moroseness, nothing now will alter. Precisely! Nothing will change and that you take comfort in, and yet you want some sort of change. No, not want, need, because there are also necessities that require practical measures. And what you've just achieved, with some aplomb it has to be said, is impracticable going ahead. How much farther can you go at this stagnant pace? when any hard won progress is swiftly unmade by your own hand.
Aha! Self-sabotage is the lesson here, and how not to fall into such traps, but of that, as you may have realised, I've not been victorious; nor indeed does it seem I'll learn to curb this masochistic luxury.
Picture credit: Photograph of Rex Whistler's In the Wilderness, 1939, by Angelo Hornak
