Today is Thanksgiving. My pilgrimage to Allinall begins ––
“Why does imperfection rock?” I asked Izabel.
“It has no boundaries. It’s infinite.”
“And perfection has boundries. Once something’s perfect, it’s done.”
“Yes, it can’t evolve into something even better…”
Suddenly I felt invincible, as if I could conquer the world because I was so gloriously imperfect. However, as usual, the moment of embracing my imperfection vanished, my insecurities returned, 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 . . .