Forgive me my nonsense, as I also forgive the nonsense of those that think they talk sense.

We're all winging it more than admitted

There's something quietly radical about Frost's permission slip here. Most of us spend energy trying to prove we make sense, as if talking clearly and logically is the real measure of a person worth listening to. But Frost is suggesting something different: that we're all, at some point, spouting nonsense. The banker, the poet, the parent giving advice at dinner—we're all winging it more than we'd like to admit.

The second part of that quote is where the teeth are. He's not just asking for forgiveness for his own wandering thoughts; he's forgiving people who are absolutely convinced they have it figured out. Those are often the hardest people to tolerate—the ones who speak with such certainty that you start doubting your own sense of things. Frost is suggesting they deserve forgiveness too, not because they're right, but because their certainty usually comes from the same confused place as everyone else's confusion.

What makes this useful now is permission. When you say something clumsy or change your mind or admit you don't know, you're not failing to make sense—you're just being human. And maybe the person lecturing you at work isn't the exception to that rule. They're just better at sounding sure. That shift in perspective can change how much patience you have for yourself and others.