For/WORDS

I could have sworn the email said, “Thursday.” It just didn’t specify which Thursday. Surely, when someone is writing to you on Sunday and says they will be someplace Thursday, it means the Thursday next, not some Thursday at some unspecified time in the future. So, I am not crazy being here, holding my artwork in the lobby of a convention centre, attracting curious stares from passersby and being noted with suspicion by security, when really I should be here on Thursday three weeks from now. 

My cheeks begin to burn, and I feel the dawning of shame as I realize my mistake. Though really, I tell myself, it is not my fault. I look at my phone, sigh, walk casually back to the parking garage, and hope that it looks like I was merely stood up. 

During my car ride home, I play out scenarios of my next encounter with the person I had thought I would be meeting; ways in which I could make it look like I had never actually shown up, that I called him today because I wanted to ensure I had read things correctly having only just remembered that I had said I would be there. We would laugh, the kind of laugh that often precedes the comment, “you’re a good chap,” along with a hearty slap on the shoulder and an invitation to sherry in the old British films I love so much. But I know it will be nothing like this. I will blush, awkwardly hover in the doorway, and when I leave I will not have ever been fully there. I will think, this is where the cool kids are, so my place must be somewhere else.

Why is it making a mistake—really rather a minor one when I think about it rationally —means so much that I would rather have people think I was stood up than that I had read a date incorrectly? There are moments in my life that come into the forefront of my mind when such an incident occurs—other instances of petty mistakes that haunt me: Eight years old, I said I wanted to “gallop” when I should have said “cantor;” ten years, I gave the incorrect name of the acting program I was in; 11 years, I called someone a “bitch” only to realize I really didn’t know what the word meant; mispronouncing “hegemony” at 25…Things that others may not have even noticed, or if they did, forgot soon after, because after all, these things are of little importance. And yet, while I stood in that lobby, painting in hand, the hollow feeling in my gut suggested something quite different.

These moments have meaning. Not in and of themselves, I would argue very little does, but because I choose to give it meaning. The word “choice” here is a tricky one because it never really feels like I am the one choosing this; why would I choose to be embarrassed or ashamed about some things over others? And yet, I do, because we all do. So why this? Why the little thing? Why is it I can reveal deep emotions on stage, show my naked body to hundreds of people, make a fool of myself for the sake of comedy, all without the slightest blush, but make a mistake, and I feel more exposed and vulnerable than Prufrock under his pin? 

These moments bluntly remind me of my fallibility, of my humanity—which is not always a pleasant thing to remember. For with it comes my weakness, my failings, my sweat and stench, all that I have done and all that I will fail to do. The sadness that follows is not solely a result of the prior feeling of embarrassment, but all these underlying meanings I give to that embarrassment. It is the sum of my shortcomings for which I fear I will be remembered; the sum of my shortcomings I fear, and perhaps at times feel, is really the sum of myself.

But all that may be a bit heavy handed.

I mean, really, when you say “Thursday” and don’t specify which one, don’t be surprised if people show up on the wrong date. So it wasn’t my mistake. Not really.

I came across this writing challenge when I was looking for new writing prompts and thought I would try it. Some of the days will likely be changed or tweaked (see days 13, 14 and 30—I am not much of a letter writer), and the thirty days will not be consecutive, but I am hoping that it will be an effective means to begin more online writing. Here are the days, if you wish to do the challenge yourself:

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself