A dog’s tail can never be straightened. Old saying. Annoyingly true.
Some parts of us bend the same way forever. We promise to change. We hold out a week, maybe two. Then we’re back to the same old bend, wagging like nothing happened.
I’ve been trying to straighten mine for years. My ego. Not the loud kind. The quiet kind that just wants to be right, all the time, about everything.
I notice it. I fight it. I win, for a day. Then it’s back, tail up, pleased with itself.
Some of my bends were put there early and I never got a say. Waking up before sunrise. Respecting people older than me. Telling the truth even when a lie would’ve been easier. Fine. I’ll keep those.
The rest I built myself, badly. I trusted people who didn’t deserve it, more than once. I ran from arguments instead of having them. Someone insults me in front of others, I go quiet for a week and let the anger rot inside instead of saying a word. And procrastination — my old friend — enjoy today, dump the work on tomorrow’s guy. Tomorrow’s guy hates me.
None of it arrived overnight. It crept in, one lazy decision at a time, and I let it.
Somewhere in my forties I stopped trying to fix everyone else and started looking at myself instead. Turns out that’s worse. Everyone else was easier to criticize.
Now I’m in my fifties. I see an old man on the street, walker, taking his time. My brain says: same line, just a few spots behind him. Used to scare me. Now it’s just a fact, like Tuesday.
The tail still curls. Same tail, same curl. I just catch it a little faster than I used to. That’s it. That’s the whole improvement.