Failure Seeks Redemption

With my health issues (presently daunting but not incapacitating) and general confusion (my well-trained instinct amid confusion is to reeeeelaaaaax, which is nice but doesn't leave me super productive), I couldn't figure out how to get an absentee ballot in time for the election. And it's too late. So I won't vote.

My shame goes deep. I am in no way unaware of the epochal significance of this lapse.

I need to take this one. It's not a fluke I can shrug off. This goes on my permanent record. This is a pitcher giving up a grand-slam home run in the playoffs. This is a dad failing to safeguard his kid. This is a chef serving bad chicken, giving customers diarreah. This happened. Not some "mistakes happen" aberration. This solidly happened.

Fortunately, I have an immutable conviction that every moment starts fresh. The scroll of my lifelong narrative is no burdensome weight (nor an enriched delight). It all rides on Now. The current moment is the only medium in which I can express my agency. So, remaining focused in the eternal Now, I strive still, with steadfast determination stoking creativity, as you'll now witness.

If my confession influences you to try just a bit harder to get out and vote - or to convince others to do so - it would redeem my failure. What a massive favor you'd be doing me. And I don't pretend to imagine I deserve it. And I apologize for pressing you to work harder on my account. But I do request it.