I was originally going to write something light-hearted and up beat, about yesterday being like an ‘Italian’ day for me. In the morning I worked on a short story with an Italian character named Giuseppe in it, then while talking to my daughter five copies of the Italian version of Wanting Mor arrived.

On the back cover it said: “Se non puoi essere bella, devi essere almeno buona. Ti apprezzeranno per questo.” Which I assume means: “If you can’t be beautiful you should at least be good. People will appreciate that.”

And then to top off the day I watched Moonstruck!

The only thing missing from my Italian day, was spaghetti and meatballs for supper.

I was going to focus on that, but instead I thought I’d talk about setbacks.

I think life always contains a series of setbacks.

A few days ago I made a mistake, a very public mistake.

It felt unsettling at the time, I thought I might be doing something wrong, and yup, I was. I blogged about a private conversation.

Later on I invited anyone who thought I’d acted inappropriately to admonish me.

I have been thoroughly admonished.

Humble pie doesn’t go down very well. It tends to stick in your throat. It requires a good swig of self-pity juice to get past the uvula and down the hatch.

And yet I think eating your piece of humble pie, when it gets served up hot and fresh, is important.

I’d been pottering along for a while without any setbacks, and come to think of it I was due for one.

I’ve always been very bad at tricking anyone. When I was a kid, if I lied, I’d get caught and the punishment would be doubled.

If I tried to cheat on a test someone would see me and snitch.

When I couldn’t resist the temptation any more and  pressed the intercom button on the classroom wall, sure enough I got caught and received a detention.

When I shoplifted some candy from the corner store and hid it under a rock in the backyard, my little sister caught me retrieving my stash. Even though I told her it was a magic place that would give us candy only if she never ever told anyone, she told. A long lecture from my parents throughout which I was sure they’d beat the tar out of me–but didn’t–taught me to never steal again.

Pretty soon I realized that it wasn’t worth trying to lie, cheat, steal, or whatever. It just wasn’t worth it.

Arrogance, however has been another issue altogether.

It tends to sneak up on you.

I think it’s a mercy when every once in a while something happens–a setback, that brings me back down a notch or two and makes me realize how fallible I am.

It’s a good time to bring up that old saying, “pride goeth before a fall”.

But you know, it’s better if they’re a series of ‘little’ falls. (Little being a subjective term in that nobody has ever been killed or injured by the mistakes I’ve made.)

That’s what I’ve been finding.

Some people like to gloss over these mistakes, pretend like they never happened. That’s not wise. 

I allow myself to thoroughly wallow in them, feel bad for as long as it takes to learn the lesson, apologize to the injured party, pray for forgiveness and guidance, and then move on.

Then the process begins all over again. Thoroughly chastised I will slog on, watching my words and actions, till I’m bound to get careless once again and make a fool of myself.

I can’t promise I won’t slip up again. But I can do my best, never to make this particular mistake again, and that I plan to do.

But I’d like to think that each time I fall, I’m still a little higher than I was, the last time.

That slowly and surely, despite the bumps along the way, my character is improving.

At least I hope so.