I’ve generally just chosen a topic and written about it here. But here’s the problem with that:you run the risk of repeating yourself. And then you feel stuck, because you don’t have anything new to say.But then it hit me: Shakespeare

No, I’m not writing about Shakespeare. I know professors of the guy, and I am not remotely qualified. Except to say my favorite film adaptation is Baz Lurhman’s Romeo and Juliet.No, today’s post has to do with a concept largely attributed to him.

Shakespeare is supposed to have said there are only six stories in the world, No, I won’t detail them. But the point here is this: I can write on a topic many times, as long as I don’t say the same thing. So I’m going to talk about a couple things I’ve discussed before, but in a different way: grace and hope.

I’m discussing these things because for the first time in a long time, I’m feeling both of those things at once. And they both relate to one thing I generally don’t talk about: my divorce.

I know, you’re thinking:grace and hope? In a divorce?I think both of those things are important to having a divorce. Without the two, most divorces wouldn’t happen. And yeah, folks, sometimes, they need to happen. Mine certainly did.

And let me not sugarcoat it: I fucked up a lot when it came to splitting up. I hurt family and friends badly. Not to the extent that some have claimed, but I’m not here to argue. Let’s get going to the good things.

Grace has been on my mind because of certain actions. I’ve had a moment of grace from someone I didn’t expect. Someone who to be frank, I hurt badly. And who in turn, hurt me badly right back. But I’m not naming names. I am sorry for hurting them. And they’ve railed against me in certain corners. But they showed me grace this week, and I am grateful for that . It leads to the next thing I wanted to talk about, which is hope.

Hope is bandied about, as if it’s a feathery bird. Fuck that shit. Hope is tough as leather, stronger than steel. Hope has lasted through things that would make Chuck Norris curl up in a ball. So hope survives a lot of things.

Tonight, in a manner I didn’t think possible, I felt hope. Not hope for the world, or large scale hope. No, I felt hope for me. That I was going to survive all the turmoil of my year. And more importantly, I felt hope for those I’ve hurt with my words and actions. People have mistaken my silence sometimes for denial. Sometimes my silence was letting time pass, letting the wounds start to scar over. Realizing that time might be the only thing that truly heals some hurts.

If someone has hurt you, don’t quit. Rest, lick your wounds, but don’t stop. Live your life, learn from the hurt, whether you’ve caused it or bore the brunt. Take those scars, and realize they’re part of you. And know that this too shall pass, and there’s a light somewhere out there for you. Good night.