I am well aware that I am no stranger to mistakes. In truth, no one is, but this is how we learn and to be afraid of mistakes is to be afraid of the possibility for growth.


When I was young, perhaps nine or ten, my brothers and I decided we wanted to swim. In the last days of May when the flowers were just beginning to open their eyes to the sun, we decided it was time.


We did not hesitate a moment. My parents warned that the water might be cold, but how could I listen when my ears were so full of thoughts of adventure? 


None of us dipped our toes in or tested the water with our palms, instead we just jumped. Took a leap of faith. Cannon balled into the unknown the way only children can.


I remember feeling the moment the pond engulfed me like a fish catching a fly. One second I was flying through the air, soaring on wings of curiosity.


The next, I was under the surface, air quickly escaping my lungs while every nerve in my body screamed to my surprise, that the water was too cold


It felt like wrapping myself in a blanket of snow or showering in liquid nitrogen. This was a nightmare. We quickly willed ourselves to the shore, not quite sure how our bodies managed to move


We ran to the house with wind in our hair, teeth chattering like a marimba made of bone. Towels gripped our shoulders, but did little to warm us.


This was the day I learned that sometimes my parents are right. That sometimes whats wrong will feel right, and that surprisingly I’m not always right.


I wouldn’t learn not to trust til I got a bit older, wouldn’t learn to fear adventure til the world made me older. I still make mistakes, but I’ve grown a bit older.


It is always a mistake to wish you were older

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