I have been beating myself up for the past week. The Dominican Republic trip was a total failure – unable to find peace and quiet, we left after three nights and took refuge with my parents, losing over half the cost of the two-week trip. In search of sun and relaxation, we’ve scrambled to book a replacement trip, costing us even more money. It’s taken us four straight days of planning for flights, transfers, and Covid tests, and I’m still not 100% convinced we’ll actually make it to Tortola. My inner critic hasn’t been this loud in a long time. If only I had done better research for the DR. If only we had cancelled the trip when British Airways cancelled our original flight to Punta Cana. If only I had listened to that little nagging voice of doubt inside of me. Maybe we should have just ditched the beach vacation and gone somewhere local, saving time and money. Maybe then I wouldn’t have created all this hassle for R and my parents (who I know were looking forward to a few weeks of quiet time to themselves before the holidays).
So as I indulgently browsed through books of poetry for this week’s Friday Pause (my mother has some wonderful collections), this classic by Mary Oliver jumped out at me and nestled itself into my heart. We all make mistakes, but it doesn’t mean we need to walk on our knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. The world keeps turning, and time moves on. Rather than continuing to punish ourselves for poor decisions, we just need to breathe deeply and ask our body and our heart – NOT our mind! – what they want to do next. Maybe step outside, go for a walk, and take in the vastness of the sky. This, too, shall pass.
