Celebrate your bad decisions, you holy and wholly fumbling human. You brilliant fuckup. You with this life built from the wreckage of an endless string of choices you likely never should have made. Because somehow here you still are, undeniably a maker of the most beautiful sort of living.
So, do me a favor, won't you? Try spending at least as much time believing in your good press as you've spent ruminating on the bad. Because every last moment of awe and bliss your body has ever known came with a trail of questionable actions and a clusterfuck of missteps along the way.
That's just how it goes when we show up for life and love with bravery, and courage, and the blind miracle of hope. We don't get a crystal ball. We just get to stumble and trip our way through the whole shebang, doing the very best we can. So, hallelujah to the bad calls.
Amen to the lapses in judgement. Thank the fuck for your willingness to go for it, again and again and again. Here you are. Messy. Learning. Alive. Breathing. Able to see and taste and know. Growing in grace from every last bit.