This morning I met some friends to watch their four year old son play soccer. Talk about the cutest thing ever, a bunch of toddlers doing their best to kick a ball down a field (in the correct direction) and into a goal. Bless their hearts. The second cutest thing? Nobody keeps score. The kids dress up, kick the ball around, make goals, and whatever, but it’s all just for fun. No winners, no losers.

After the game my friends and I went to lunch then went back to their house and crashed on their couches. That’s right–we all took naps. This was seriously the best thing for me. So often I fill up every minute of every day. I go, go, go. But taking a nap forced me to slow down, to stop, stop, stop.

I should do this more often.

This evening I stayed home, did laundry, and spent a few hours doing myofascial release. This amounted to lying on lacrosse balls and poking myself with a Theracane, which is basically a plastic cane with knobs in various locations you use to put pressure on trigger points (fascial knots) until they release. I did this one night earlier this week on my lower body, so tonight I worked on my upper body. And whereas I had mild success with some knots, others melted away like butter. I could feel an immediate letting go in my body, a chain reaction of relaxation. Do I feel perfect? No. But I feel good enough to know that I’m headed in the right direction.

The lesson: any letting go is good letting go.

Earlier this week I saw several funny drawings online about “titles of honest books.” One was called Hypothetical Arguments I’ve Won in the Shower: Volume 1 of 16. Is that funny or what? And, as one of my friends commented, “So true.” Anyway, tonight I went for a walk and thought a lot about just how much time I spend mentally arguing with people I no longer talk to in reality. My personal answer is “too much time,” but the truth is that any time mentally arguing about something that’s already over is too much time. Why?

Because it’s over.

My therapist says sometimes we get into these cerebral debates because we so often bite our tongues in real life. Like, if we authentically expressed ourselves more, we wouldn’t have a need to go round and round in our heads. Screw you and the horse you rode in on, and all that. (As if people ride in on horses anymore.) In my experience, this is true. The more I speak up, the more I’m able to feel good about whatever has happened. I guess that’s part of the deal with those situations we can’t let go of–we don’t like the way they turned out, so we keep them alive between our ears, or between someone else’s ears if we’re wont to bitch and moan about them.

There are, of course, other theories as to why we do this, why–let’s just call a spade a spade–we can’t forgive a person or situation. We want to be right. We want to humiliate them. We don’t want to be humiliated (again). We want revenge. We want control. Because we don’t trust God or life to take care of things. Because we think we know better.

At lunch today my four year old friend dropped his chocolate chip cookie on the floor. (Shit happens.) And whereas I personally would have eaten it, his mom said, “Don’t put that in your mouth. Here’s a snickerdoodle.” Alas, our little buddy still cried. This is what’s great about children–if they feel something, they express it.

Thankfully, he was over it in no time.

Now, I realize that if someone’s really done you wrong, you might not be able to get over it so quickly as our pal got over his chocolate chip cookie. If someone’s betrayed you, I doubt a snickerdoodle will make it better. But my point is that it is possible to move on. So many of us get stuck in thought loops of revenge and bitterness that go on for decades. I recently heard a story about someone who said, “I’ll never forgive you.” Now, I obviously don’t know what’s happened for this person since, but that’s a lot for anyone to carry around for any amount of time. Because in order to not forgive, you have to stay angry and you have to be mean. Simply put, you have to disconnect from your own good heart. This comes with a price.

A price that hurts you more than anyone else.

My prayer tonight as I was walking and thinking about the things I can’t get over–and to be clear, I don’t seethe about them day in and day out, but I do spend time thinking about them that could better be spent otherwise–was, Lord, give me the strength to drop it. Just that simple. Give me the strength to drop it.

One of the things that occurred to me tonight was just how exhausting it is to keep score with everyone in my life. They broke my heart. They were an asshole. I’m a winner, they’re a loser. Whatever. It’s so tiring to play judge and jury with everything that happens in one’s life. This was wrong, and now I’m going to be mad about it the rest of my life. Please. Those soccer-playing toddlers have it figured out. We don’t have to keep score. There are no winners, there are no losers. Other people hurt us. We hurt other people. Shit happens. If you’re doing the best you can (damn it), everyone else is too. It’s not your job or responsibility to make yourself miserable, to rob yourself of the joy of this present moment, by arguing with ghosts. It’s not my job either.

It’s my job to let it go (even a little), to drop it (like it’s hot), to set it free, Nancy.

It’s my job to forgive.