A few weeks ago I made a complete haimes of something.
I sent an email with an error in it.
To an ex-boss.
What I considered to be an important email.
And what, honestly, was quite an important error.
In an already awkward email.
Where errors were definitely not required.
I couldn’t believe it had happened.
That would never have happened to ‘Old Me’.
The ‘Check everything 600 times’ me (and then 37 more for luck).
The ‘Reread that same email a further 90 times post-send’ me – to make sure it set the right tone, and it couldn’t possibly hack anybody off, and wouldn’t cause any discomfort, or annoyance, or be a burden on anyone else’s day.
The me who would apologise for the inconvenience and presumption of taking up space in somebody else’s inbox. The sheer effrontery!
But on this day – I wrote the thing. I sent the thing. I spotted my error. I swore.
And yes, I did spend the day beating myself up for being a little careless, a little too hurried, too stressed to get it done with calm fingers.
But then I had a word.
Then I slept.
And I woke up thinking ….
“Fuck it” it is done. It cannot be undone.
In five days, it will probably not be a big deal to the recipient.
In all likelihood it really wasn’t in the first place.
(what with other people not fixating on things in quite the same way that I seem to do – lucky other people I say)
In five weeks, I’ll probably be forgetting about it myself.
This is HUGE!
What is more, I now also know why the email went wrong.
It wasn’t meant to be sent.
My heart knew this.
But my oh so organised, and rigid, and ‘Must Do’ head said “Get it done! It is on the list, therefore it is what you are supposed to do”.
Supposed to do!
Who is telling me this stuff?!
I think I need to take out a restraining order.
I am learning not to listen to that little propagandist as much as I once might.
It is where all the bullshit and cock-ups lie.
It is what your ego says. It is what your head tells you must be done, regardless of all, and weighty, evidence to the contrary.
My heart was screaming “You are stressed to hell about this thing, because you are not meant to be doing this thing. Please don’t do it?”
But then I went ahead with it anyway.
And then I screwed it up.
I used to be ruled by the list.
I am learning, finally, how to be ruled more by my heart.
My head can help me organise – and it is great at that.
But it can no longer rule with autonomy.
There is a new sheriff in town.
And this guy likes me better.
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