Promises We Make Only to Break

My first week of blogging (well, calendar week at least) has come to an end.  I promised myself I'd write something everyday, and for five days now, I have.  I suppose I feel positive about my work and pleased that I haven't found a reasonable excuse to stymy this newfound creative outlet.  But deep down, something is definitely stopping me from massaging the balls of my ego any further.  And that's because I know that just about the only promising thing about a promise is the prospect of failure.

I don't mean to sound dour, but do promises really mean anything?  There are the secrets we promise to keep, that we tell.  There are the activities we promise to stop, that we only refrain from temporarily.  There are the people we promise to love forever, that we ultimately feel nothing for.  We continuously stuff our pockets to the brink with promises until they spill out (sometimes explosively) onto the street,  only so we can once again make room for more empty proclamations.

I don't think that anyone makes a promise they plan on breaking in the same way that  I don't think anyone one takes on the vows of marriage with plans of divorce. But why does it happen? Lets look at weddings.  Weddings today are more about the open bar than bringing two people together in holy matrimony.  And sure, getting toasted and dancing is the most fun part of the evening, but I think there has to be another reason why people bring together all the important people in their lives for this event. I think it's so that when these people make that vow about forever, the people in their lives witness it. They become participants.  In a sense, they become responsible for not only reminding, but holding the bride and groom to their commitments.

Obviously, this seldom happens.  Perhaps it's because we have too many broken promises of our own to hold anyone accountable to their vows.  Or perhaps it's because we understand that the human spirit can only live in the present.  It's actually kind of amazing how we assuage ourselves of responsibility from commitments. For example, when we fall in love, we assume those feelings will be forever and when we don't feel a certain way any longer, we simply look back at ourselves and say something like, "I was a different person then."  It's as if we are pleading not guilty but reason of temporary insanity.

"I wasn't myself." "At the time, that's what I wanted."  I've said those things before.  And I suppose right now,  I want to write...and so I am.  But I'm going to take back my promise before I break it.