Today is Thanksgiving. My pilgrimage to Allinall begins ––
“Why does imperfection rock?” I asked Izabel.
“It has no boundaries. Perfection has boundries. Once something’s perfect, it’s complete, it can’t evolve into something better.”
“Since I’m imperfect, I’m limitless?” I was eternal, I felt myself soar until one by one my insecurities begin to creep back in, and I returned to chopping wood and carrying water.
Sometimes you have struggle to the top of the hill so you can look back and see what you’ve missed . . .