random love

If

If

“failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor”

                                                          ~Truman Capote

then I don’t fail enough.

Sigh.

I fail at little things, quite often: lacking discipline, producing enough, achieving balance.
I sweat the small shit.  I allow stress an easy in.  I’m impatient.
But an epic fail that forces me to get wise, Quick?

I don’t think so.
Because if said failure had happened I doubt I would be so scared.

I avoid getting hurt, which I feel is weak.
I have problems being vulnerable.  I protect myself.  I don’t risk enough.
Yawn.

So.
I attempt growth: I risk, I jump, I expect.
There’s no palpable achievement, no net and free-fall is my second skin before I hit the ground, and it’s not graceful.
Disappointment happens, I hurt and I am hurt.
I cry a lot as a result and I think I’m stressing out my heart because when feeling especially neurotic, I swear its beat is damn irregular.

But life’s still fun and funny.

People surprise me.
Better yet, they impress the hell out of me.

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