“It takes as much courage to have tried and failed as it does to have tried and succeeded.”

– Anne Marrow Lindbergh

I have to admit, I am no stranger to failures. I think I’ve had as many failures as successes, maybe even more.

I mean, how could I not? I am impulsive, I am stubborn, and most of the time I listen to my gut more than my brain. I think I have always been a puzzle to my family who had always been planners. I remember being always told that I should plan things well so I wouldn’t have to worry much about failing.

I do not know why, but I have never been as afraid of failing as other people seem to be. I feel like I could never really fully grasp the implications of failure; from school grades to competitions to relationships, I was never the kind person who fretted about the possibility of failing. I do acknowledge, of course, that there is the possibility of failure and that I could do something to avoid it and I do my best to avoid failing especially on the most important things, but I never really overthink it.

I guess you could call it courageous but for me, it is simply acknowledging the fact that I have always thought the journey is as important as the destination, sometimes maybe even more. I have always enjoyed the moment, always prioritized things that are more important, and have always, always tried to live each day the best way I can.

And when I have, it doesn’t matter to me if I failed. What matters the most to me is that I lived.


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