Yesterday was one of those days, you know, a day that just seems like it is dragging on and on. There’s nothing particularly awful about it, just a series of little things that feel like tiny anchors all weighing down the passage of time.
I gave yesterday way too much credit, honestly. I’m even spending part of today on yesterday. How foolish is that? It’s gone, it was what it was, but it’s no more. Why let it take up any more time than it already did?
I say no more, Yesterday. I’m done with you.
I’m working on letting go of other yesterdays, too, the self-repeating, self-defeating memories that aren’t serving except to keep echoing messages of regret or shame or sorrow or disappointment or pain. I don’t want yesterday to steal anymore today.
When those old yesterdays creep up on me and try to wrestle me down, I’m employing some emotional self defense by telling a new story. I don’t let the old story be the end of the story, because it isn’t. No, I follow it up with part of the new story. Yes, this rotten thing, sad thing, terrible thing, whatever it may be, happened, but I claim that is yesterday, that is gone, this is a new day, and I’m telling a new story. The old story isn’t followed by an ellipsis on its own. The old story has a period, definitive, end-of-sentence punctuation. There’s a new paragraph, a new chapter, a new book after it, and the more I remind myself of that, the less power yesterday leeches from today.
What yesterdays are you holding on to?