Thursday, February 11, 2016

Time Out Thursday: Spilt Milk

Did you know that today is National Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk Day? What a terrific idea for a holiday, and what perfect timing too.   I don’t know about you, but as we wrap up this, the sixth week of 2016, there’s already a trail of disgarded resolutions and good intentions behind me.  Just take a look at this score card:
  • Write 2K words a day and wrap up revisions by January 20?  Failed.
  • Limit my time online?  Failed.
  • Resolve to not let online discussions bother me?  Double fail.

There’s more, but posting the entire list of my failed resolutions would take up too much space on this blog.

Besides, they’re in the past.  There’s nothing I can do about my past failures, except let them go and try again.  There’s only one problem: I’m not very good at letting go. Instead, I carry them with me in a giant metaphorical backpack, one mistake piled on another, ready to be pulled out and remembered at any time.  If wanted, I could pull out mistakes I made in kindergarten.  (And since I mentioned it, I’m sorry Barb C for stealing Ronnie away from you during snack time by promising him Fritos.)   As you can guess,  by this point in my life, I’m carrying a pretty heavy load of mistakes.

Something tells me I’m not alone.  That there are a lot you out there.  Maybe you’re beating yourself up because of an argument you had on Twitter an hour ago, or ashamed of yourself because you submitted an online pitch with a typographical error in the first paragraph.   Raise your hand it this is true.

Don’t Cry Over Spilt was made for people like me.  It’s a reminder that what’s past is past.  Barring some change in the time-space continuum, we’re never going to be able to change what happened so waste energy beating ourselves up?   

In doing a little research, I discovered that no one is entirely sure where the phrase “Don’t Cry of Spilt Milk” came from.  It appeared in a book a proverbs in the mid 17th Century, but no one knows from where.  Some believe it began back in the days people believed in fairies.  A little spilt milk wasn't to be mourned because it  meant you were leaving an offering for the fairies (which made the fairies happy).  I like that theory.  It means that all my screw ups and mistakes are fodder for future happiness.  

Of course, it's also possible that it began because some wise mother wanted to comfort her child.  another theory is that it was started by some wise mother trying to comfort her child.  

In the end, where the phrase started.  The meaning stays basically the same.  Things happen.  Milk is spilt.  Stupid tweets get posted.   Emails get ignored by colleagues.  We can either dwell on them or we can get over ourselves and move forward.   

For today at least, I’m going to try option number 2.  How about you?

When she’s not obsessing over her many past mistakes,  Barbara Wallace writes classic romance for Harlequin.  Her latest release, SAVED BY THE CEO is on shelves now.


After a horribly public divorce, Louisa Harrison has escaped to Tuscany craving peace and quiet. But gorgeous local tycoon Nico Amatucci sends her heart into overdrive…especially when he kisses her! 

Nico comes to Louisa's rescue when their romance makes headlines, but Louisa's determined to prove she's no damsel in distress! Being in Nico's arms makes her feel stronger than she's ever felt before, but is she brave enough to entrust him with her just-healed heart? 


1 comment:

  1. Very much appreciated reading this post. My hand is definitely raised on the avalanche of regrets and mistakes I continue to carry around with me. Though it may be too late for me (although I do rally), I am trying to change that way of thought for my daughter. I'm encouraging her to embrace her mistakes. That they are an indication of taking risks, of trying. With any hope, that will be the lesson she carries forward. That mistakes are part of life's journey. That we all make them. Because it would be far worse if, in either fear or shame of making mistakes, she didn't truly embrace life, its foibles and all its beauty.