I want to be clear about something. The first place I needed to clean was my side of the street. I had to stop the blame machine. I view this machine as something that churns like a locomotive, angry and moving with smoke stacks, billowing with black smoke and moving almost unmercifully down the train tracks in our mind. The train is long and behind the locomotive are all the cars like fault and shame, regret and doubt. I had to stop this. I had to end this cycle and stop my interaction, which was the fuel for the locomotive. Or, as my good friend Fran always says, “I had to fess up when I mess up” and learn to keep moving.