I let the mistake breathe, because my first instinct is still to erase whatever feels unsuccessful before I have understood what it was trying to show me,
I let the mistake breathe, resisting the embarrassment that makes me want to move quickly past the moment instead of looking closely with myself patience, or trust,
I let the mistake breathe, because sometimes I only call something failure when it refuses to match the picture I previously imagined,
I let the mistake breathe, can I stay curious about what went wrong without immediately judging myself wrong,
I let the mistake breathe, and something useful begins rising from this present discomfort…
I follow the strange result, even when it leaves me farther from the place I thought I was trying to reach closer to something I had never considered making,
I follow the strange result, because I have spent enough time forcing beautiful accidents back into predictable shapes I was afraid of what might become,
I follow the strange result, allowing the unexpected detail to disturb my plans instead of treating every deviation as evidence that I have lost control,
I follow the strange result, what if this part I wanted to correct is actually the part asking me to closely look again,
I follow the strange result, and the detour starts carrying its own kind of truth that I might needed to see…
I stop rescuing everything, because there are ideas I keep trying to save only because abandoning them would force me to admit how much of myself I had already invested,
I stop rescuing everything, accepting that persistence can become another form of fear when I am no longer responding to the work I have spent on it,
I stop rescuing everything, because I want enough honesty to recognize when effort is still feeding something or is merely keeping something alive,
I stop rescuing everything, can I release what is draining me without turning that release into another personal failure,
I stop rescuing everything, and some space finally returns to me…
I return to what remains, not to recover the certainty I once had but to discover what becomes visible when I no longer need the work to become what I first imagined,
I return to what remains, carrying the lessons I earned without carrying every old decision as though I am required to defend it,
I return to what remains, because starting again does not erase the work that came before it and I do not have to pretend the detour taught me nothing,
I return to what remains, can I begin again without demanding that the new attempt compensate for the disappointment of the last one,
I return to what remains, I understand that some things are not waiting for me to finish them—they are waiting for me to become ready to see where they want to go…
Watchwords:
Something useful begins rising,
The strange result isn’t always a failure,
The part asking me to look again,
Some space finally returns to me,
The unfinished work feels possible again,
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream: