Essay on Forgiveness



I’ve really got to settle down and learn to love myself. Oh, I’m not saying I have to do it because Whitney Houston told me to, although she’s certainly entitled to her opinion. Everyone is telling me to. Maybe Whitney Houston put it in the easiest way to understand: “Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all”. Well gosh, who wouldn’t want that? The greatest love? That’s way up there above the loving way my wife will go the extra mile and sprinkle a little cinnamon on my buttered toast for breakfast.

 I’ve really thought about it a lot. It was the first thing on my mind while I was having my morning coffee, munching on that buttery/cinnamon-y toast and trying to nail down maybe a faster way to love myself because I’m a little overweight and the lady on the morning yoga TV show says my self-esteem will go way-way-up! if I just lose a few pounds. “Self-Esteem”. That’s the same thing as Self-Love, right? Hmm. That’s a tough one. Maybe that buttery/cinnamon-y toast isn’t helping that much. I really love it, though.

 Like I said, I’ve really thought about it a lot, even to the point where my palms get a little sweaty with nerves over whether or not I’m learning to love myself. There’s a lot of confusing ideas out there on how to love yourself. I think it all boils down to forgiveness.

 After all, you can’t love yourself if you don’t forgive yourself, right? Hoo-boy! I’ve got a lot to forgive about myself, believe-you-me. My palms are getting pretty moist just thinking about all the things I have to forgive about myself.

 Time magazine says the one thing all over-achievers like your Bill Gates and your Donald Trumps have in common is that they all make lists. Lists of problems to solve, things to accomplish, corporations to screw…whew! Donald Trump! There’s a lot of self-love, right? It’s not Martha Stewart self-love, but it’s pretty close.

 Anyhow, I’ve got to knuckle down and make a list of all those things I’ve got to forgive myself about.

This may take some time.

Arghh! That’s one of them…time! I’ve got to forgive myself for wasting so much of it. My wife says it’s a good thing my head is screwed on or else I’d lose it. She says that because I’m all the time misplacing things like my car keys or my wallet and…man! Think of all the time I’ve wasted looking for my wallet when I could have just got one of those clunky chain things like the biker-dudes wear that permanently weld your wallet to your pants pocket. One chain… money saved, time saved: Two birds with one stone.

 Holy crap! I’m going to have a pretty big list of forgiveness. I know I definitely didn’t say “you too!” to that guy at the “Wag-a-Bag” when he told me to “have a nice day” and then gave me the wrong change. Same thing with that guy who cut me off on my way to work…well, I wasn’t going to tell him to “have a nice day” but I certainly didn’t have to “flip the bird” back at him.

There’s a lot of pressure to this self-love/forgiveness business. Right at the top of the list has got to be my appearance. Like I said before, I’m a little overweight (Okay, maybe more than “a little”) but it’s got to be way easier forgiving myself about that than replacing that delicious buttery/cinnamon-y toast with yogurt like the diet lady on TV says. Even if there is fruit-at-the-bottom. It’s the same scenario with my hair. I’ll just forgive myself for not taking the time to even up my sideburns when I shave in the morning. Save time shaving; sideburns forgiven: Boom! Once again: Two birds with one stone.

 My tendency to be judgmental, my breath, that one time I didn’t put the full one dollar in the coffee fund; my toes, my eyebrows, that phony appointment I made up when my mother-in-law called…Jeez. It’s going to be a long, long journey on this road to forgiveness/learning-to-love-yourself enlightenment. Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

 I think I’ll just have another piece of toast.

An Essay on Forgiveness

By Daryl Buckner

Copyright Daryl Buckner 2013© All rights Reserved

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.