HOW TO REPAIR A BROKEN THING

A slow march to victory
  1. Let's say you cut someone out of your life for no good reason.
    Or, for lots of reasons, all of them suspect
  2. And you avoid their calls and messages and even their love, until years have gone by.
  3. So many years that even you, the cutter-outer, recognize how ridiculous and sad it is.
    "This is some BS," you think to yourself. "How did I even get here," you wonder.
  4. What do you do?
  5. You'll want to call, you'll want to send up a flare, extend an olive branch, anything to stop the madness.
  6. But you don't call.
  7. You don't write.
  8. You don't extend.
  9. You just keep don't-ing, won't-ing, avoiding; looking at your feet, changing the conversation, and doing the dance you know you could do until the end of time. The one you could do *right up until* the moment the Giant Cosmic Hand plucks you off the dance floor.
  10. Until one day, when you realize that this entire avoidance schtick is predicated on the assumption that you have time left to make things right—-
    But what if you don't have time? What if the Big Hand plucks before you're ready?
  11. This is when you must do the impossible thing. When you must allow the panic of "Not Having Time" to replace the panic of "But I'm Scared." This is the day you look your anxiety right in the eyeballs and say,
  12. "HEY ASSHOLE! OUTTA MY WAY!! I GOTTA MAKE A PHONE CALL HERE."
  13. And then you do. Make the call. Write the letter. Send the text. Just start dialing, typing, scribbling. Get the words out into the ether. Don't think. Don't breathe. Just go forth.
  14. When it's over? I won't describe the feeling. But you will have done it. You'll have written yourself a Redemption Story. You'll have repaired. You will have *been* repaired.
  15. Do it—-because not a one of us has the time.
  16. Warning: you just may wind up talking on the phone for two hours, as if no time has passed. ❤️