Mistakes are made. Because ... we are human?

A few months after I became naturalized, I was summoned for jury duty.  The eager-beaver civic-minded newly-minted American that I was, I showed up on time. It was not any complicated case and, if I recall correctly, the proceedings took less than an hour, and we jurors spent very few minutes to reach a unanimous verdict.

But, I was relieved that I was not the judge with the responsibility to send the accused to prison. I knew I would not be able to do it--I am a wuss, and would have let the guy go or, perhaps, handed him a very light punishment.

It is not merely in criminal contexts.  That is the case in everyday life, too.  The older I get, the more difficult it gets for me to be uber-strict with students. (I hope they don't read this post and then treat me for the pushover that I really am!)  I accept assignments when they are late (not from the same student and over again, however.)  I don't get all worked up if they don't come prepared. Even if the occasional student engages in a less-than-courteous interaction with me, I let that slide, unlike a few years ago when that could have messed up my sleep.

All because the older I get the more I understand that we make mistakes all the time. Rarely ever we have anything like a death wish that makes us commit egregious errors. Otherwise, it is all like how my sister once explained why she has no patience for people who critique food cooked at home--"nobody sets out to make bad food" she said.  In the kitchen of life, we don't set out to make bad food out of the ingredients. We commit mistakes because, well, we didn't know any better.  If we are sincere about things, well, we learn from them, as much as we don't over-salt the dish when making it a second time.

If you even remotely agreed with me until now, then I bet you will appreciate and love the following poem:

When I Was One-and-Twenty
By Alfred Edward Housman

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
'Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
'The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

If only wisdom came earlier, right?  Such is life!