I’m borrowing part of the heading from John Maxwell. Failing Forward.Two words that broke my brain last week.
I had the privilege of celebrating 30 years of being an adult; the class of ‘89! Excitement filled days prior, nerves on high alert. What to expect? Will I remember the faces and names? Will they remember me? Does it really matter?
Within a full circle of 24 hours I was hit by an emotional tsunami: we all survived, some barely (including myself!). Authentic conversations. Brutally honest moments. Empathy, Wisdom and Experience our companions, coloring the edges of life’s map.
Was there a map? No one seems to know where it’s been hiding. Many smiles and stories. Several masks. Some hearts filled with painful remembrance of life that happened without consent. The cup of Gratitude being passed along in agreement. Here we were – survivors of… Life?
We have not come this far to only come this far.
I’ve failed terribly in many ways within the capsule of 30 years. But life is lived forward, though we tend to look over our shoulders, shedding our own skin. Forward. Our feet and eyes pointing, guiding that route.
Seasonal Metamorphosis ahead. Repeated frequently.
Failing forward is not an insult. It’s progression. True acceptance. Embracing the ‘me’ I’ve become. Even assisting another ‘failure’ along the way. Realizing that every story has meaning, human compasses attempting to seek north… again.
I honor every lady of the class of ‘89. You’ve already made an impact in this world. As a fellow beautiful ‘89-er replied:
“A mosaic of reflections… super powers to reflect colorful light…”
I’d rather fail forward than not have tried and shed at all.
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