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I cannot precisely predict every outcome of my actions, or my inaction.

If I did what I did with as much straightforwardness, sincerity, intention, sensitivity, and kindness that I could muster at that moment,

why should I condemn myself?

And why do I demand of myself that I always get things right the first time?

Have I suddenly forgotten all that I had said for the past year?

I asked for struggle. I asked for uncertainty. Because I asked for meaning, for purpose, for fulfillment.

And none—absolutely none of that would exist if I did everything as perfectly as I wanted.

Stop deluding yourself. Stop being weak in your mind. Stop flailing amidst the winds. Stop being tossed by the waves.

All the disparate fragments of what I have learned the past year—about myself, about the world, about others that I walk amongst in it—must now be forged in this crucible of reality.