172: because all criticism is self-criticism

A writing professor once told the class:

All criticism is self-criticism.

What you dislike in another’s work is what’s really wrong with your own. And as with any other lesson that writing has taught me: It applies to Life, too.

I am frustrated when The Dog doesn’t sit, even though she knows how to sit, and I’ve just told her to sit, because I, too, get overwhelmed and panicked and forget how to do simple tasks. Like sit. And breathe.

I am frustrated because I am not in control.

I am critical when The Boy comes home in a bad mood after a long week, because I, too, forget that external forces—like The Boy and work and The Dog—don’t have to determine my mood.

I am critical when I remember that I am not in control.

I am impatient when Mom keeps me on the phone, even though I told her I just have a quick question, because my fight for control removes any possibility of flexibility. And I know Mom sees through that shit.

I am impatient with how much I struggle to let go of control.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, writing has once again restructured my priorities. It’s time to walk The Dog, call Mom, and hug The Boy when he gets home. Because I gain so much more when I weaken my relationship with control.