Mistakes Were Made

By the time I realized Finn had escaped the kitchen, it was too late. He’d had ten minutes alone in the living room—just enough time to chew through a wicker basket. When I walked in, he looked up with that unmistakable stare that said “What’s the problem?”

I’m sure Finn didn’t ruminate about what he’d done, engage in self-recrimination, or assign blame. Maybe it’s because dogs don’t rationalize. They simply are, and then they move on. It struck me how easily we forgive dogs—and how hard it can be to forgive ourselves or others for mistakes.

Years ago, I had a major run-in with my boss (who happened to be the CEO). Not enough to get me fired, but enough to potentially limit my career. Several months later, during my performance review, our conversation was straightforward and constructive, but he never mentioned the incident. At the end, I asked him why. He looked at me and said, “I haven’t been thinking about it. Have you?”
“No,” I lied.
“Well, that’s good,” he said. “It’s water well past the bridge.”

I learned more from those last few words than from any feedback since. They’ve helped me navigate many of my other personal Finn moments.

When mistakes are made, observe, learn, and then let them pass under the bridge.
With apologies to Matt Groening.