Why is it that I can’t get through one evening out with friends without saying something that I wish I hadn’t? (I purposely do not use the word “regret” here, because the issue at hand is far too small for that term.) A bad story, an awkward comment, an allusion to something I’m not supposed to know. Nothing major, but enough that I remember the misstep. Enough that I hope no one else remembers.

It’s a look-before-you-leap problem. One that I have always had. At times it can be good, to trust yourself that way. At times it’s mere folly, to rush ahead before you’ve thought things through. One of my best-and-worst qualities.

I try not to beat myself up about my verbal faux pas. (What is the plural of “faux pas”?) But inevitably I run through the moments over and over again in my mind. What did people think? Why didn’t I think? What else could I have said instead?

Why do I care so much?

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I recently finished reading JANE EYRE for the first time. In addition to the riveting story, I was quite taken with the character of Jane. She is strong and smart, passionate but in control. She provides Mr. Rochester with intelligent discourse and repartee, as well as companionship and devotion. I admired her greatly, and her strengths — particularly in this arena — were a reminder of my weaknesses.

(Note: I don’t mean to put myself down, but rather to acknowledge a flaw that I have and that I wish to work on.)

I wish there were more characters like Jane. I wish there were more real women like Jane.