progress not perfection.
the one that sometimes burns as it comes out, knowing full well that you want perfection. you want to be so perfectly fine that you never have to step foot into a meeting again. 'cured' or whatever your fucking addict pretends is reality.
you never have to breath deeply, sigh, and recite those opening words '...god, grant me the serenity...'
but here's the thing:
serenity is the end goal... in life. not today, not tomorrow, not in 1 hour, 1 day, 1 week, 1 year, 1 decade, but in life. and if you're lucky, you'll live a nice, long, bountiful, joyous one.
so with that in mind, progress becomes your new best friend.
progress to the next stage in your life. progress to your next career, your next job, your next hobby, your next friendship, your next city, your next home, your next relationship, your next love.
but never strive for perfection. it simply doesn't exist.
if it did, we'd all be robots. yes sir, no sir, how can I help you sir.
and that's just fucking boring.
