There is this close-to-ancient movie I show my classes every semester called “Pack Your Own Parachute” which basically tells you to take responsibility for yourself.  I am pretty sure I have written about it before…but, regardless…here we go again.

The whole premise of the movie that i think is so important is that we have to take ownership of what we say and the consequences.  Now, I’ve come to the place in life where I am completely comfortable blowing up bridges and watching them burn while I drink rum and coke and eat popcorn, so, I embrace the whole “deal with the consequences of your own shit” mentality. 

I get it.

I know that what I say has consequences.

For example, I know that people read this blog and take what I say completely out of context and use my own words against me.

I know that other people read it and think that I’m writing explicitly against them in some passive aggressive kind of way.

I know it.

And I still write.

I know that my writing has consequences.

And I am OK with the consequences.

To me…the opportunity to exist with a voice is worth the risks associated with people taking my words and putting them to use in the way that is most comfortable, effective or malicious….

I’m cool with that.

But, I’m not so sure people all own their shit.

If you speak up and don’t get the response you wanted…don’t blame the person you were talking to.

It is your message…you are the one with emotions connected to it.

Own it.

And…own the consequences.

The secret to this whole downward spiral of “bad” is OWNING your message again.

If it is apparent that your message created a situation that wasn’t what you had planned, step it up, and try again.

Fix it.

Don’t expect the other person to.

Why?

That other person just might not give a fuck.

In my lovely “Year of the Great Transition” I have learned to let go a lot.

I have lost…and wasted…time, money, emotions, effort, strength, tears and anxiety over shit I didn’t have any control over.

I started as someone who had a firm grasp on life.

And now…I have a firm grasp on not caring anymore about shit I can’t impact.

I have learned I have complete control over nothing except how I deal with the world. I have also learned that it isn’t worth the emotional expense to pretend that my response to people is different than what it is I feel.

I’m not one for sugar-coating, honey-glazing…or sprinkles.

I have burnt a bridge or two.

And I’m perfectly OK with that.

I packed my parachute.

But, I didn’t pack yours.

I can’t tell you how to react and I can’t react the way you want me to.

I can only accept the role I play in the world.

And if I fuck things up…I might not care the way you want me to.

And maybe I’ll want to fix it.

And maybe I won’t care for another 20 years.

And by then…it might be too late and another smoldering bridge.

And so be it.

Moral of the story?

I’m not so sure.

I guess pack your own parachute.

Realize that you can blame nobody but yourself for your life.

(until I feel like pointing a finger at you for fucking up my life…I write my rule in chalk…keeps my options open that way)

And on that note…there is a baby waking up from her nap.

Time to return to my Motherly duties…so, there…ye who thinks I write and neglect my kids…I write when they sleep…take that to the bank ;-P)