soopastryheart

I took Honie to her first dentist appointment in nearly two years the other day. I know, I know, that’s pretty irresponsible of us, considering her age and all, but it was what it was. I stood in the room as the dentist pointed out the numerous cavities that have made their residence in her mouth, shooting my disappointment at Honie’s terrified eyes. The dentist explained that at least one tooth had to be removed, and the others be resorted to fillings. She then informed me that orthodontic work would have to be done to correct the crowding, since Honie’s mouth is apparently too small to occupy her teeth. And I stood there, watching as the dentist extracted the condemned tooth, politely emphasizing the importance of thorough dental care because without it, “the damage becomes irreversible.”

In the car, Honie, even with her mouth swollen, numb, and filled with gauze and regret, said to me, “I’m going to take such better care of my teeth from now on.” And with a stern voice, I replied, “You should have been doing that anyway. Fillings are forever.”

And I thought about that all day… the idea that sometimes, you can only learn after the mistake, and that even with such a realization, not all mistakes can be rectified with a pair of medical pliers or fluoride. Sometimes, the mistakes are far too great, and far too complex – and will convince you that the damage has indeed reached the point of no return.

There are the types of mistakes that become a singular event. The scars on my body have made damn sure to never let me forget; that steam can be hot enough to scald you, that oven mitts are never just a decorative accessory for the kitchen, that it’s never a good idea to stick your finger in a fan, and that if you somehow manage to stab yourself in the hand with a utility staple, your first instinct shouldn’t be to tear the sucker out with such brute force and panic. These are incidents that should really happen only once (okay, the steam thing may have happened like two or fifteen times), because they become imprinted in your brain. And as painful as the lesson may have been, you learn, you heal, and you never rollerblade down a rocky hill ever again.

Then there are the mistakes that you continuously acknowledge but allow them to reoccur, for reasons that have become either irrelevant, inefficient, or inconvenient. Everyone knows that one girl who has been on and off with her boyfriend at least twice a month. The night cramming before a midterm, you cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die-promise God to go to church more if you pass the test. You naturally bomb it, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die-promise to yourself that you will study so much harder for the next, only to find yourself in the library before the next exam, bribing the big guy once again. We trust people who have lost that privilege, make fully aware invalid promises, and floss less and less. So why do we gamble with our emotions (and dental hygiene), knowing that the possible outcome is more than likely, a repeat of what has happened before?

I think it’s because with some mistakes, you have to continuously get kicked in the ass because the alternative, to not do it, would mean something much more awful than a couple of broken hearts or broken bones. Most mistakes don’t lead to life-changing, life-interrupting epiphanies, so you do the best you can, handle the situation accordingly, and hope that maybe you’ll have a bit of luck this time around. That’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s hope that leads us through that ringer time and time again. It’s hope that deceives us, motivates us, encourages us to risk it… that despite what history may tell you, there’s still that slimmer of a chance that things will happen differently. And really, is that so bad? Isn’t that worth a couple of nicks and bruises?

But of course, sometimes, the damage is just too extreme, too extensive to be repaired. Some bonds can never be reconnected. Sometimes, the faith dissipates. Sometimes, probability becomes insured by statistics and facts. Sometimes, there’s just never enough glue.

So what happens when “the damage becomes irreversible”?

What’s left to do but adjust? You reconfigure or you reformulate. You throw away the eraser and pull out a blank sheet. You reorganize and remember your irrevocable mistake and once again, do the best you can. And if I’ve learned anything at all, it’s that there are very few things in this life that cannot be repaired in one way or another (unless you’re in a museum). Some relationships, despite the brutality and level of pain it may have caused, can teach you that with time and a little forgiveness, you can let it go. You can’t change that lowly number that is your GPA. You can’t transport back and retake that test – but you can work to strengthen your weakness, fill those gaps with other facets.  You can blame yourself for all the voids and insecurities that came along with all those “permanent” mistakes, or you can work to make them less prominent and more irrelevant.

I’ve made a handful of mistakes today. I forgot to drop off the Netflix so that the next movie arrives by the weekend. I didn’t go to the bank, meaning I’ll have to do so in the morning when I already have a crapload of errands to run. I didn’t put on sunscreen on my face this morning, which will only contribute to premature wrinkles as I get older. I didn’t work on my portfolio, schedule my eye exam, or return any text messages.

But the beauty of tomorrow is that it’s another day, another opportunity to fix the wrongs of the day before.

And tomorrow, I will buy Honie an electric toothbrush.