The Great Mistake

Where does one start? Someone might unrealistically suggest the beginning, but no one has time to hear all of that. Even if I could I wouldn’t want you all to know the whole story. I wanted to name my blog The Great Mistake but I felt (quite conceitedly) that I would not like to be known as one who makes a lot of mistakes. Perhaps as much as any person, but certainly not enough that it would define the story of my life. No. Instead, I decided to make that merely the title of my first post.

I tend towards mistakes. I must be honest. My very existence could be termed a mistake. I was born as a twin, which means your parents were expecting one baby for their trouble and received two. Of course, that could also mean that my twin was the mistake and I was the intended reward for nine months of sweet agony. I take comfort in the fact that God makes no mistakes, so He intended me anyways. I also comfort in the fact that my parents do not appear to view me or my sister as such. They actually appear to love us very much.

With my history of passionate beginnings and dismal endings, it must be understood that this could all be a mistake. I could be starting something I cannot possibly finish well. I could end it. Yes. But ending something and finishing it are two very different things.

So I called this place The Great Escape. I love to travel. To see new places and meet new people. I love to experience the culture and the memories of a place. It just makes me ache in such a delicious way to hear their legends and see their customs. Alternately, what a homebody I am! There is nothing I treasure more than my fireside and the warm companionship of family and friends.

And here you see my dilemma. When at home I dream of different places. When abroad I miss my home and my people. So what to do? Journal. Writing warmly and imaginatively of the place I am, home or abroad, has contented me in a wonderful way. This blog will serve as a step up from my notebooks and become (hopefully) a collection of my adventures. Of which I desire there to be many.

Much fear has accompanied this decision. This could be a mistake.

It occurred to me as I sat with my nephew, a bright boy of five that I ache and pray over with all of my being, that it is part of the process. His face was insecure as he realized I knew he had made a mistake. He was trying to blame someone else for his slight slip, trying desperately to cover the open feeling of thinking he was doing something right, then crashing and burning in an instant. He doesn’t like to mess up. Neither do I. But I was in my wise-old-man mode.

“Lincoln,” I started sagely, “it’s ok to make mistakes.”

He seems to find this hard to believe.

“Making mistakes is a huge part of learning. There is no way you are going to get it right every time, but mistakes are steps towards getting it right in the end.” I was very pleased with how well this was coming out.

“I didn’t.” He states. Denying a wrong equals not committing a wrong altogether in his mind.

Obviously he doesn’t appreciate my wisdom. Honestly, I didn’t either.

I’ve been so afraid of failure that I didn’t even start. He at least stepped out and fell. I would not risk the falling and so I did not step out. So here I am, challenged by a five-year-old to do something I really should do, but hadn’t the courage to do. The start of something shiny and new. My great escape and maybe a mistake. But we’ll make it a great and wonderful mistake.


2 thoughts on “The Great Mistake

  1. What a great read, Eliza! Bravo to you for your adventurous spirit, kind heart and courage! “Mistakes are the portals of discovery” (James Joyce)….so go make some mistakes 🙂


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s