People make even less sense than that. They don’t owe me answers, or an explanation, or even forgiveness. Likewise, I don’t owe anybody anything, especially forgiveness.
And that’s okay.
I have regrets, and that’s also okay. I am thoroughly happy with the way my life has gone so far, but doesn’t mean that I can’t wish I hadn’t sold that comic book; or that I hadn’t said that one thing to that one person at that one crucial moment. Anyone who claims they have no regrets are either lying, or inhuman.
I’m thinking about this now for a couple of reasons: for starters, it’s the overriding theme of my novella, Clear Spirits, especially as I get into the second half. Also, I’m soon going to be in a place where I will be physically reminded of my mistakes, as well as of my unwillingness to forgive.
I need to remember that certain things will never be resolved. Loose ends will remain loose; the characters and plot of a prior chapter won’t be the characters and plot of the next chapter; and that things will not be tied up into a neat little bow. I may never forgive them, and I may never forgive myself.
And I need to know that that’s okay.