We’re spoon-fed the same story from the time we can walk:
Figure it out.
Do it right.
Get the grades. Say the lines. Choose the path that makes the most sense to everyone else.
Be nice, but not weak.
Be strong, but not intimidating.
Be available, but not needy.
Be independent, but still likable.
It’s exhausting. And most of us — quietly, privately — are drowning in the fear that we’re still not doing it “right.”
But what if that’s not the point?
What if this whole life thing isn’t a test, or a race, or a set of damn instructions to be followed perfectly?
What if it’s a conversation?
An experiment?
A long, clumsy dance?
What if we’re not broken, or late, or behind — maybe we’re just living lives that aren’t supposed to be linear?
Maybe we weren’t meant to get it all right the first time.
Maybe we were meant to try. Then fall. Then cry. Then swear off love forever. Then meet someone weirdly perfect in a gas station line while buying frozen pizza and dog treats.
Maybe we were meant to lose our way.
To fumble through friendships, slam a few doors, open ones we shouldn’t have, and stand barefoot in the kitchen three months later thinking, “Well… damn.”
Maybe we were meant to grow out of things we once prayed would never leave.
Maybe we were meant to grieve versions of ourselves we outlived.
Maybe we were meant to keep returning. Not because we’re failing — but because we’re still becoming.
Some days we get it “right.” We drink water, reply to the texts, say the kind thing when we want to burn it all down.
And other days? We eat toast for dinner and cry at that one dog video we’ve already seen seventeen times.
And guess what? We’re still worthy.
Because the point isn’t to impress the world with how well we can play pretend.
The point is to actually live.
Even when it’s ugly.
Even when it’s weird.
Even when our timeline looks like a busted-up treasure map with coffee stains and bad decisions scribbled in the margins.
We’re not failing.
We’re learning.
And maybe… that’s as right as it ever needs to be.
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