At 72, a daily accounting of my life runs through my head often these days. It is hard to be honest about one’s own life, hard to bear too much reality, as Mr. Eliot said. Still, it is a useful exercise to at least try to be ruthless in making judgments, if for no other reason than to see clearly in the time remaining.
I sat outside with a legal pad and made lists. Maybe we lean towards being too harsh when we are certain no one will ever see such a list. Maybe too harsh is exactly right.
I composed the list. Recalling sins calls forth more sins. Recalling good qualities calls forth their opposites.
This is not a pretty page – difficult to actually set down what I really think even when no one’s looking or listening. Looking at it myself is … a challenge.
At a certain point, I abandoned it. Doing this acquires a weird aura of narcissism. Too much becomes self-flagellation and an exhibition. It is also a relief to stop.
I’m not going to set that list down here or anywhere else. Performing humility is as bad as most other kinds of emotional performance.
I’m glad I wrote it down though. A knock on the head has its usefulness when it comes to judging others. My secret voice can remind me to wait, wait … and remember my own disarray, f***-ups and failings. That is worth something.
