There’s a mix of happy and melancholy whirling around in my soul.
It’s a nice feeling, strangely.
It’s the feeling of balance, and of acceptance, that nothing can ever be perfect as is, and that the imperfect can only be made perfect by acceptance of imperfections.
Perfection in imperfection.
Perhaps that’s why Christmas this year was so perfect.
I had no expectations, didn’t try to orchestrate anything, and just took things as they came, riding wave after wave.
Waves bring you safely to the shore when you don’t try to fight it eh?
Let conscience be your guide.