Accepting Failure

I don’t think anyone likes to fail. This is when you all hit the unsubscribe button. I get it. But what about? What about when the one person you love says that they won’t stick by you and the only thing you can do is watch them… love somebody else that has it all together. What about the day you thought you completed a project you only thought about completing, because the truth is that you couldn’t finish one more thing you didn’t love doing. What about the days you spent in the house thinking about if you’ll ever be anything, to prove it to whom? You?

I don’t know about my readers yet, because this is only the beginning of our journey. But I certainly hope that they all listen when I express my failure. My triumphs. I think not only the foundation and journey matter, but rather the laughter and the tears we choose and the foods, wines, sleep deprivation, or overly slept time we choose to get there. Countless nights I’ve spent now looking at a pretty swirly white ceiling. Numerous mornings I’ve spent staring at carpets, burning eggs because they only wait for moments, and crying in the shower because crying when the water is running means the water doesn’t know you’re crying.

A person is what they are. A person makes decisions based on the education and experiences that they have thus far. When I start talking about love I mean life. When I talk about life, I mean love. What do you love? Do that. What do like? Love that. It’s hard to imagine my life with any different choices than the ones I’ve loved. Today I attempted to clean the house. I had such high hopes. That house is staring at me wishing for snow right now. It looks like a tornado met a laundry mishap and they decided to have the most daring words they’ve ever mustered. And let me tell you, this writer is not pleased to explain the outcome. Nothing has gone on, that is positive.

I am, currently waiting on take-out, with a glass of nasty white wine and a sink full of dishes my son has half-done. I have officially accepted a failure of a submission that I submitted and I have accepted that my house is not in order, nor will it ever be as I see fit. I have eight loads left. I could stay up the remainder of the night and I will still find something to rev about in the morning. I can vacuum but I will still see dust in the hallway. I can try but I will still fail, sometimes. What is intrinsically important is that I have spent time doing something that I wholeheartedly love to do. What is important is the strive, the fact that I’m going to die doing this—and live giving this everything I’ve got to give it. I am a Writer. Introducing Lalanii, Thank you, for giving me something I love to do.