My Word is My What?

“My word is my bond.”

I’m sure you’ve heard that expression. I know I have. Have I ever lived it? Nope. And that is bothering me enough to not only write about it, but do something about it.

I’m one of those poor afflicted souls who is creative, curious, and impulsive. It took me years to get my mouth under control; and even today, occasionally something will roll off my tongue before my brain has had a chance to truly consider it.

It’s easy to say, “Yes,” especially if you seek approval and attention. “Yes! I’ll chair the fundraising committee. Yes! I’ll help you move. I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll email that to you when I get home.”

I have truly meant those things. And have truly been derailed by other Yeses. “Yes! It’s finally a gorgeous day. I’m going hiking. Yes! I have no appointments or deadlines, so I’ll sleep in. Sure I can stay for another glass of wine.”

It’s rather embarrassing. It’s something I’ve largely tried to hide about myself. At a deeper level, I’ve carried quite a bit of shame over it.

So that is why I write. Dragging such gremlins out into the light has a way of draining their batteries. A shame that has been shared with at least one person, is a shame that is moving aside so healing can begin.

The days where the world feels like a bit of a circus swirl — 53 ferrets spinning plates and juggling oranges, perhaps — odd connections happen. Ideas happen. I love that.

I wish I had a good list of all the people I’ve let down. But there weren’t many large things, just the drip drip drip of small ones. Bit by bit my trustworthiness surely eroded.

It did for myself, anyway.

I’m 46 years old. I think it is high time I had the utmost trust in myself. In so many ways, I do. These past few years doing a classic mid-life reboot has me realigned and reinvigorated. I feel like Master & Commander of the SS Leela and most of the time that feels grand.

But can I trust the captain here? History would say, no. It is one of those ugly truisms in counseling: The best indicator of future behavior, is past behavior.

Sigh.

Looking for image attribution! Any ideas? Yes, I Google Image searched!

Me thinks this a last big task…making peace with the speedy brain I have. It’s like living in a small house with 53 ferrets. A million things can draw my attention away from the task at hand. And, as a creative, I often welcome that.

The days where the world feels like a bit of a circus swirl — 53 ferrets spinning plates and juggling oranges, perhaps — odd connections happen. Ideas happen. I love that.

My writer’s cupboards are chock full of fun ideas and stories. I have other cabinets filled with songs and clumsy visual art concepts. I shall surely live out my days in some form of creative bliss.

It helps for me to think of the speedy brain as something a bit separate from me. I have, after all, had the experience of being run over by it!

As something separate, I can define the when, where, why, and how it gets unleashed. I’m started to get the hang of this via my daily meditation and mindful endeavors. It’s much more fun to own a Ferrari that can take you places as opposed to being overrun by 53 crazed ferrets.

“My word is my bond.”

I’ve made this declaration simply to myself for now, and am doing quite well. Holding some, “Noes,” slow to say a true, committed, “Yes.” Bushido. Acting honorably has a very distinct vibe to it.

I’m at the front end of new endeavors, but am doing my best to go easy. Let the living, breathing project find its own pace. Before I would’ve tied the concept to the Ferrari’s bumper and dragged it down the street. This feels better.

“My word is my bond.”
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