I’m learning to be better about accepting less challenges at a time, but i’m also learning that overestimating myself feels better than underestimating myself. I cannot possibly meet all the goals i set, but i would rather have them and fail than not try.
Failure doesn’t bother me; it’s a part of life, like sleeping, eating, shitting, and eventually dying. I can be hard on myself when i don’t expect it, when i fail at something in which i expected to succeed, but it’s not a mortal psychological wound, just a disappointment.
The jaw-droppingly vile historical excuse for Thanksgiving doesn’t work for me, but the sentiment of counting your blessings is powerful. This year i’m finding that i’m also thankful for what i don’t have, for all the things i tried to attain and didn’t grasp, and where those experiences took me. I’m even thankful for the things i thought i wanted and it turned out to be like expecting a juicy apple when you bite into wax fruit.
I’m me because of those things, and i’m thankful that i’m me.