I don't know everything.
There I said it. Satisfied? I don't know everything.
You know, admitting that can be pretty liberating. I've lived for nearly forty-four years believing I knew everything. Even if I didn't really believe it I convinced myself and everyone around me that it was true. The problem with that is the pressure that goes along with knowing everything. It means you can never make a mistake. And the mistakes that you do make have to appear to be things that you meant to do. What a drag.
On Christmas Day I ended a four and a half year relationship for no good reason at all. By the way, with the relationship experience that I have, I have absolutely no skills when it comes to breaking up with someone. I suck at it. So for several weeks, I'm miserable because I handled the situation so badly and he's miserable and wondering what the heck happened. Finally, a couple of days ago, when we were both calm, we had an adult conversation. I (actually) apologized for handling the entire thing the way that I did. He (actually) apologized for saying some awful things to me out of anger. We discussed the real problem, had a few drinks and made up. Is it wise to make up over a few drinks? Who knows.
Before I realized that I didn't know everything I would have stood my ground, swore up and down that I was right and walked away from a near-perfect guy. Stupid.
It's okay to be wrong. It's okay to apologize. It's okay to start over. It's okay.