Failure.
There’s something funny about writing this word after two weeks of feeling it.

No, not the debilitating feeling of those whose failure (or perceived failure) cripples them, leaves them laying in a heap of their own decided helplessness. My failure is more like the dull ache of disappointment that comes and goes like the pain in my left shoulder. I don’t deceive myself–this is only because I’m young.

For a long time, I said I believed that no one could fail unless they truly gave up, just stopped trying.

But then I watched as I spiraled into myself, after only a few months of “failing.”

I gave up, …kind of. And then I gave over.

It’s funny how prepositions change everything.

Recent failure: I didn’t complete my mission: 4 blogs, 4 weeks. I got busy. I forgot my computer (for a week). I went on vacation, had bad time management, and stupid forgetfulness. I failed.

And, I think I’m okay with it.

Because maybe it’s less about failing, and more about how you handle it.