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Learning Resilience: What My Daughter's College Visit Taught Me
Today, I stood on the sprawling campus of the University of Michigan, watching my daughter's eyes light up as she took in the Gothic architecture, the bustling Diag, and the unmistakable maize and blue that seemed to color everything in sight. It wasn't just any college visit—it was *her* first college visit, to the school she's dreamed about since her junior year.
The journey to this moment wasn't straightforward. When my daughter first mentioned Michigan as her dream school years ago, I smiled and nodded, remembering my own college dreams—some realized, some abandoned. I never finished college, but the path had been rocky, filled with financial struggles, changed majors, and moments of doubt. What I didn't realize then was how closely she'd been watching my journey. While I saw my college experience as a mixed bag of successes and failures, she saw persistence. She saw someone who kept showing up, even when it was hard.
Standing there on State Street, I watched her confidently step into her dream of psychology, I realized something profound: the resilience I thought I was teaching her had actually become a two-way street.
My daughter has always been methodical. While I stumbled through college without a clear plan, she's researched everything about Michigan—from the clubs she hopes to join, to the "big house" football game environment. Where I saw obstacles, she sees pathways.
During our campus tour, I watched her navigate conversations with current students, asking thoughtful questions and considering things I would never have thought of at her age. When the admissions counselor mentioned the competitive acceptance rate, I felt a pang of worry. She, however looked like she was ready to get her "M" card and go to her dorm.
This isn't blind optimism—it's a resilience different from my own. Mine was forged through trial and error, through getting knocked down and standing back up. Hers has been built deliberately, through preparation and perspective. There's a peculiar transformation that happens when your child stands on the threshold of adulthood. For years, I've seen myself as the guide, the one who's been there before, who knows the way. But as we walked through the Law Quad, with its ivy-covered walls and solemn dignity, I realized our roles were shifting.
My identity as a father isn't diminishing—it's evolving. I'm no longer just the teacher; I'm also the student. The lessons I've tried to impart about perseverance and determination are coming back to me, reflected through her experiences and ambitions. Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of parenting is this reciprocity—this give and take that grows more equal as the years pass. My daughter doesn't just need my resilience anymore; she offers her own version of it back to me.
When I expressed concern about the tuition costs, she brought up the scholarship opportunities she'd already researched. When I worried about her being so far from home, she reminded me of the time she went to "Summer Of A Lifetime" at Brown University her sophomore year in the Providence of Rhode Island—an experience that taught me how ready she really was.
This reciprocity doesn't diminish my role as her father; it enriches it. It transforms our relationship from a one-way street of guidance to a mutual exchange of strength and wisdom. As we finished our campus visit and sat in the shuttle back to the hotel—she excitedly giggled with her friends while I tried to calculate tuition costs in my head—I realized that our individual purposes had become beautifully intertwined.
My purpose as a father has always been to help her find her path. Her purpose, still unfolding, includes carrying forward the lessons of persistence that she's observed throughout her life. But together, we share something more profound: the purpose of growing together, of allowing our relationship to evolve as she does.
I don't know if Michigan will become her home for the next four years. The application process is still ahead, with all its uncertainty and anticipation. What I do know is that whatever campus she eventually walks onto as a freshman, she goes with a resilience that we've built together—part mine, part hers, and part something entirely new that we've created between us.
And as for me, I'll be learning to embrace this new chapter of fatherhood—one where I'm not just imparting wisdom but receiving it in return. One where my daughter doesn't just carry forward my resilience, but where I learn to incorporate hers into my own life. I'm realizing that's the thing about resilience, it's never finished. It's built day by day, challenge by challenge, and sometimes—beautifully—it's built together.
Long Story Short: The Power of Perspective
Two nights ago, I sat down with my daughter Kayla, a high school senior and soon-to-be psychology major, for one of our many deep conversations. We were unpacking an incident from earlier that day when she casually dropped a term that made me pause: hindsight bias.
She explained it as the "knew-it-all-along" effect—the tendency to believe we could have predicted an outcome after it has already happened. In other words, we trick ourselves into thinking we saw it coming when, in reality, we didn’t.
Her words hit differently because, just hours before, I had been sitting at the funeral of a dear friend, reflecting on my own life in real time. The weight of loss has a way of sharpening perspective. As I sat there, I saw my journey—the highs, the heartbreaks, the lessons—through the lens of God’s redemptive plan. Romans 8:38 reminds us that nothing, not even the hardest moments, can separate us from the love and purpose of God.
But this idea of hindsight bias—of thinking we should have known—extends far beyond our personal lives. It’s woven into society, culture, and even religion. I’ve often judged past decisions based on present knowledge. Politicians, leaders, and even everyday people are criticized with the benefit of hindsight. “They should have known better.” “We saw this coming.” Whether it’s an economic crisis, social movement, or a major event, we rewrite history in our minds as if the outcome was obvious all along. But was it?
Society thrives on retrospective judgment, yet true progress comes from acknowledging what we didn’t know and learning from it. Instead of blaming or assuming inevitability, we grow when we embrace the lessons. Culturally, we see hindsight bias play out in how we understand movements and historical shifts. Civil rights, women’s rights, technological revolutions—looking back, it’s easy to say, “Of course this was going to happen.” But in the moment, change is never certain. It is fought for, doubted, and resisted.
We often don’t recognize the value of cultural moments until they become memories. Just as people once underestimated the significance of Rosa Parks taking a seat or the Berlin Wall falling, we may be living in a moment right now that future generations will look back on as history in the making. The challenge is to be present enough to see it before hindsight sets in.
Faith teaches us to trust without always seeing the full picture. Scripture reminds us that God works all things together for good (Romans 8:28), and from a biblical perspective, hindsight bias is nothing new. The Israelites, after escaping Egypt, often doubted God’s plan. Later, they looked back and saw His faithfulness, but in real time, they struggled with fear and uncertainty. Peter denied Jesus three times, only to later realize how blind he had been to the bigger picture.
Faith calls us to recognize the significance of moments while we’re still in them—not just when they become history. So how do we live with greater awareness? How do we stop waiting for hindsight to tell us what was valuable?
Pause and reflect. Instead of rushing past moments, ask: What is this teaching me right now?
Resist the urge to judge the past too harshly. Whether it’s your own mistakes or the world’s history, remember that no one sees the full picture in real time.
Trust the process. What feels like confusion now may become clarity later. Live with faith that even the uncertain moments have purpose.
As I sat at that funeral, I wasn’t just mourning a loss—I was witnessing my own life unfolding. I saw the hand of God in places I once questioned. And in that moment, I realized: sometimes, we will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. I used to ask, why did this happen? —as if knowing the answer would somehow ease the pain or make sense of the chaos. But now, I ask, what can I learn? Because every challenge, every unexpected turn, and every loss shapes who we are. Sharing our stories helps not just ourselves but those around us who might be struggling to see purpose in their own pain.
So today, I encourage you: Pay attention to the moments. There’s a power in perspective when we allow moments to become memories. They may not make sense now, but one day, they’ll become the memories that shape your story. And when that time comes, may you look back not with hindsight bias, but with gratitude for how far you’ve come. But if we open our eyes, we just might recognize it before then.
Your worst enemy sometimes can be your own memory.
Changing of the Guard: Resetting for a Fresh Start
In today’s fast-paced world, it’s easy to let habits, routines, and even relationships linger past their prime. But just like a computer needs regular updates to stay efficient, our lives require intentional maintenance to keep us moving forward. Sometimes, it’s not just a matter of minor tweaks—it’s about hitting the metaphorical Control-Alt-Delete on aspects of life that are no longer aligned with our goals or values.
We have to recognize when it's time for a reset. Life has a way of throwing us into autopilot. We settle into routines that once worked but no longer serve us, holding onto outdated mindsets or responsibilities that drain more than they contribute. Acknowledging these areas isn’t a sign of failure—it’s a step toward growth. Start by asking yourself:
Are my current routines helping or hindering my progress?
Am I clinging to obligations that no longer align with my priorities?
Is there an area of my life that feels stagnant or unproductive?
The answers to these questions can reveal the need for change.
We have to clear out the clutter. Just like clearing out old files on your computer, making room for growth involves letting go. Maybe it’s a role at work that’s outgrown your skillset, a friendship that’s become one-sided, or even a mindset that keeps you from taking risks. Decluttering your life allows us the opportunity to refocus our energy on what truly matters. Start small and work systematically—a clean slate doesn’t happen overnight.
Installing Updates for Personal Growth
Once you’ve identified what needs to go, it’s time to bring in updates. Learning a new skill, picking up a productive habit, or even taking time to rest and recharge can be powerful ways to refresh. Approach life with curiosity and a willingness to adapt. Small, consistent changes often have the most lasting impact.
Embracing Change
Change can be uncomfortable, but it’s also the birthplace of new opportunities. Think of it as upgrading to a better version of yourself. By embracing the process, we can find clarity and renewed motivation. Keep in mind that every step forward is progress, no matter how small.
Final Thoughts
Hitting reset on parts of our life isn’t about perfection—it’s about aligning our actions with what truly matters to us. So don’t shy away from the tough decisions or the work it takes to make meaningful change. Our future selves will thank us for it.
Hustlin' Backwards
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” His words remind us that true greatness isn’t found in the ease of achievement but in the resilience to rise through adversity. Dr. King’s legacy of unwavering courage and perseverance in the face of daunting trials serves as a powerful example that progress—both personal and collective—is born not only from triumphs but also from the struggles that shape our character. On this Martin Luther King Day, we honor his vision by reflecting on how embracing failure, navigating setbacks, and redefining success can lead us to a more meaningful, impactful life.
We inhabit a society that celebrates achievement. Success has been glorified as the ultimate measure of one’s worth. We revere those who "make it"—the innovators, the record-breakers, the boundary-pushers. Historical moments of triumph are woven into the fabric of our identity, celebrated as evidence of our collective greatness. And while these victories have undeniably shaped the world, they’ve also created an environment where failure is feared and perfection is idolized.
But here’s the thing: personal and collective growth doesn’t happen in the glow of achievement alone. It’s forged in the messy, uncomfortable spaces where failure meets perseverance. The quiet moments of struggle, reflection, and rebuilding are just as vital—if not more so—than the grand moments we elevate.
For years, I believed my work had to mirror society’s definition of success to make an impact. I chased accolades, external validation, and milestones that felt more like finish lines than stepping stones. Yet, the more I achieved, the more hollow I felt. Each victory became less about purpose and more about proving something to a world that only seemed to care about the next big win.
It wasn’t until I started embracing failure—and the lessons it brings—that my work began to truly matter. I realized that success is fleeting, but significance is enduring. And significance comes when your work is tied to something greater than yourself.
This shift in perspective taught me two truths:
Failure is not the opposite of success; it is the foundation of growth.
Your work is not just about what you accomplish—it’s about who you become and how you use your gifts to make the world better.
Proverbs 24:16 beautifully captures this truth: “For though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again, but the wicked stumble when calamity strikes.” This scripture reminds us that falling isn’t the end—it’s part of the process. The key is rising again, allowing failure to teach us resilience and shape our character. The journey isn’t about avoiding failure but about leaning into it and emerging stronger, wiser, and more purposeful.
When I think about the concept of "changing the world," it can feel daunting. But change doesn’t always happen on a global stage. It happens in the small, intentional acts we choose every day. It happens when we use our work to reflect our values, serve our communities, and uplift others.
I began to ask myself:
How can I use my work to spark transformation?
Am I prioritizing impact over image?
What would it look like to redefine success, not by what I gain, but by what I give?
These questions led me to reimagine my work—not as a ladder to climb but as a tool to create ripples of change. I stopped chasing perfection and started pursuing purpose. I leaned into the failures, knowing they were teaching me resilience and shaping my character. I let go of the need to be seen as “successful” and embraced the freedom of being authentic, even if it looked messy.
The truth is, our identity isn’t shaped solely by what we achieve. It’s molded by the journey—by both the highs and the lows, the wins and the losses, the triumphs and the trials. And when we allow both success and failure to teach us, we gain something far more valuable than accolades: wisdom.
So, I encourage you—wherever you are, whatever your work looks like—to use it as a force for good. Write the book that shares your truth. Start the business that serves your community. Speak up for the marginalized, even if your voice shakes. Cook the meal that nourishes not just the body but the soul.
Let your work reflect the legacy you want to leave behind. Let it be a testament to growth, resilience, and a commitment to something bigger than yourself. Success may win applause, but significance changes the world.
And the world? It’s waiting for you to show up—authentically, imperfectly, and unapologetically.
Because, as Proverbs 24:16 reminds us, the righteous don’t just rise once—they rise again and again, turning every fall into a step forward.
Sometimes falling back can put you 10 steps ahead.
Old Ways Won't Open New Doors
It’s funny how life has a way of teaching us lessons, even through the most mundane moments. Yesterday, my wife and I found ourselves in a disagreement over an old couch. While we both agreed it was time for an upgrade, I wanted to repurpose and relocate it—find a new corner in the basement where it could still serve some purpose. My wife, however, had other plans: toss it.
I argued it still had some life left in it, but she saw something I didn’t. It wasn’t just about the couch. It was about letting go. That peeling, worn-out sofa served its purpose for a season, and now its time had passed. It wasn’t until later that I realized how much this moment mirrored other areas of my life.
Holding On vs. Moving Forward
For the past few years, I’ve been clinging to things I should’ve let go of a long time ago—dreams, roles, and relationships that served their purpose in one season but no longer fit in the new. For over 20 years, I poured myself into serving a church, and for the past 3 ½ years, I wrestled with planting a new one. I’ve entertained ideas of opening a restaurant and questioned whether I’d outgrown certain relationships.
I’ve been guilty of trying to patch old things with new ideas, hoping they’d somehow fit together. But then I remembered the parable of the new cloth and the old garment in Luke 5:36-39. It says:
"No one takes cloth off a new coat to cover a hole in an old coat. Otherwise, he ruins the new coat, and the cloth from the new coat will not be the same as the old cloth."
The lesson is clear: new things can’t thrive when forced into old spaces. You can’t cling to what was and still expect to fully embrace what could be.
Forced Renovations
This year has been a season of undeniable change for my wife and me. As we celebrated her 50th birthday and our 25th wedding anniversary, we reflected on our journey—the “Four Rings”: the engagement ring, the wedding ring, the suffering, and the rediscovering.
In some ways, this year felt like a Jubilee—a time of release and restoration. But restoration rarely comes without disruption. Earlier this year, a flood damaged every floor of our home, forcing us into renovations we’d been putting off. It was inconvenient, frustrating, and honestly, overwhelming at times. But the process reminded me of something profound: sometimes, God has to force us into the renovations we’ve been avoiding.
The same goes for our personal lives. Change is inevitable, and growth is optional.
Learning to Embrace Change
As I look back on 2024 and ahead to 2025, I’m learning to let go of what no longer serves me. Like the couch, some things have simply run their course. Old dreams, worn-out habits, outdated ways of thinking—they all have a shelf life. Holding onto them only makes room for clutter, not growth.
But here’s the beauty in letting go: it creates space. Space for new dreams, healthier relationships, and a life aligned with God’s plan. Change is never easy, but it’s always necessary.
What About You?
What old “couch” are you still holding onto? Is it a relationship that’s run its course, a career that no longer fulfills you, or a mindset that’s holding you back? Maybe it’s time to stop patching the old and embrace the new.
Take it from someone who’s learning the hard way: change is good. It’s uncomfortable at first, but on the other side of it is transformation. Sometimes, God will nudge you to let go. Other times, He’ll flood your life and force the renovation. Either way, it’s all part of the process of becoming who you’re meant to be.
As we head into a new year, let’s commit to embracing change—not just begrudgingly, but with optimism and faith. Because just like a home renovation, the result is always worth the process.
Pull up a stool, my friend, and let’s toast to new beginnings. Here’s to the peeling couches we’re finally ready to toss and the beautiful spaces we’re about to build in their place.
Stop holding onto people and things just because you have history together.
I Grieve Different
Mortality has been on my mind a lot lately. Next month, November will be the anniversary of my father’s passing. Last week, I also got a call from a very close friend of mine telling me that his mother had just passed away, 2 days before my birthday. A few days prior to that, my wife received the news that her father was unresponsive at the facility he was staying at unexpectedly. Not to mention, she had just returned two weeks prior from burying her father’s brother. Followed by a family friend that also passed away in the same week. It’s been a really tough month. This past Saturday, we laid my wife’s father to rest, reluctantly at my former church, and on Sunday, my family celebrated my oldest daughter’s 19th birthday which made this weekend somewhat bittersweet.
On the morning of the funeral, I was extremely anxious and uneasy as I tried to mentally prepare myself to walk into a place that was so filled with emotional triggers. As I sat in the car with my children in the parking lot, I watched as nostalgic memories and former colleagues entered the building. A song by Kendrick Lamar from his recent album, Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers came to mind for some reason. The chorus goes, “I grieve different…” and at that moment those words resonated with me strongly. They gave me the much-needed strength to not only be there for my wife in one of life’s most devastating moments, but it was the gentle nudge that I needed to push me through the doors of my former place of worship. Almost a year to date, I walked through these same doors to say goodbye to my close friend who passed, and we both vowed to never come back yet there I was. In the days leading up to it, I thought to myself, why am I being brought back here again? It almost felt like it was for a specific purpose. I had no say in the matter. I almost knew that I HAD to come back this way again and to literally be forced by circumstance was probably the only way I would’ve done it. Matter of fact I know it. K-Dot’s song is titled, “United in Grief”, where he raps about how he identifies with certain instances and relates to specific people throughout the verses. Which in turn meant that ideally, we are all suffering in one way or another with the hopes of continuing life. And just like funerals, we are consequently brought together by our shared anguish, sadness, and suffering. But for me, a lot of times, things that I’ve heard throughout my years typically come to my remembrance when most needed, and this is what this song was. I’ve heard this statement several times in my life, especially at funerals, that some things have to die in order for other things to live. Or if I were to apply this to me personally, the attachment to an old church has to die if the gifts of a new season are to begin. It is kind of like a principle of life. It is unchangeable and undeniable. It is what it is. There are birthdays and funerals, and we are supposed to learn how to celebrate both. But in all sincerity, change is not fun at all. Change is a lot like death to a certain degree.And eventually, we ought to recognize it and understand it if we are ever going to experience growth. And not everyone is going to celebrate your growth, your transformation, your good news, and your higher vibrational journey. That is why you have to.
In the past two weeks, we’ve been celebrating the life of those who are still present, while also attempting to celebrate the life of those who are no longer here with us in the flesh. For me personally, this year has been a time of healing, prioritizing friendships, and optimistically positioning myself for my next phase of life – but as of recently, I’m learning that we can only control what we can control. And some things in life are beyond our control. I’ve realized that change won’t come from suppressing old feelings and ideas and stacking new opinions and beliefs on top of them like a Big Mac.We consequently have to denounce our previous concepts completely, to create space for the brand-new one to occupy. Essentially, at the end of the day, some part of us must die for a new part to live.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
3 There’s an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:
2-8 A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to make love and another to abstain,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to rip out and another to mend,
A right time to shut up and another to speak up,
A right time to love and another to hate,
A right time to wage war and another to make peace.
There’s a right time for everything right. Things change, and it was time for me to do the same. I had been selfishly holding on to “this” for quite some time. I hadn’t given myself the opportunity to grow from it, let alone learn from it. I wasn’t paying attention to the timing of everything, I was just caught up in my feelings. It was time for me to move on. Rather than grieving properly, I was acting just like those people that literally try to climb into the casket with a loved one not wanting to accept the inevitable. I had physically left the environment, but I was still there emotionally. And at that moment, I chose to let the funeral service not only serve as a memorial for my father-in-law but for me also. It was time for me not only to pay my last respects to the man but to the relationship with the place. So, as we got out of the car and made our way toward the entrance, I could feel myself being filled with an indescribable sense of peace. I walked in. I embraced people. I smiled hard. I was surrounded by loving family, and I held my wife’s hand tight as we said goodbye. As the welcome was being read, we sat there together “United in Grief” with friends, past and present, as we persevered through this season of life now giving me the understanding that first, it hurts, and then it changes you. I grieve different.
Every ending is an opportunity for a new beginning.
The Number 49
This year I celebrate my 49th trip around the sun. And on the morning of my b-day, I didn’t want to be optimistic like I usually am, yet I wanted to be intentional. I’ve never been one to really celebrate my birthday since childhood, so I kind of never treated it like it was a big deal. I was grateful but I just wasn’t used to putting that much emphasis on it. I would always find myself in a funk and somewhat unexplainably depressed since I could remember. But recently after the loss of my pops and my homeboy, I started coming to terms with learning to appreciate life from moment to moment, I decided to take a different approach and chose to start celebrating my special day. My wife had lost her dad a few days prior, so it felt like the inevitable was on the horizon as the eve of my red-letter day neared. So, in a last-minute effort, I scrounged together a makeshift celebration of things that I’ve been wanting to do but never got around to it. First, I wanted to visit the WNDR Museum, to stimulate my inner creative and expose my family to an immersive experience. And secondly, I found a restaurant called, The Tortoise Supper Club, which I felt would help me “stay in character” so to speak, and stay focused on my perseverance-themed yearlong initiative “in my turtle’s race” as I closed in on my album release in a few weeks. So, I got up, journaled a bit, mentally put together my “fit”, and shared my plans for the day with my eagerly awaiting family. To make a long story short, it truly ended up being perfect. Everything I wanted to do I did with no backlash. No disagreements wit’ wifey, no complaining children, no traffic, etc. Now don’t get me wrong, I could definitely nitpick, (wifey took too long to get ready, food could’ve been better) but for the most part, the day was pretty perfect. As always, I woke up the next morning to figure out and lock in my goals for the upcoming year. During my devotion, I decided to look up the significance of the number 49 in a biblical sense, and I was led to this:
The Meaning of Numbers: The Number 49
The meaning of the number 49 is derived from the fact that it is 7 times 7. Seven is a Biblically perfect numeral representing spiritual perfection.
So to myself, I felt pretty DOPE for a sec until I read a little further. As I continued it shared the illustration of when Peter asked Jesus how many times he should forgive a person who sinned against him. He suggested that forgiving someone seven times seemed generous to him. And the Lord's response, however, was "I do not say to you until seven times, but until seventy times seven (490 or 49 x 10)" (Matthew 18:22). Christians are not to limit themselves in regards to forgiveness and mercy. If they are to be perfect, like their heavenly Father (Matthew 5:48), believers are required to offer unlimited forgiveness.
That “feeling” of perfect that I felt just one day prior, was mentally whisked away as all of my attention now focused on this undeniable statement that led me to believe that this finding was on purpose, and I willingly accepted it because it instantly challenged me. This proclamation shook me to the core because FORGIVENESS is something that I’ve struggled with my whole life. And forgiveness, while a process, is a race that I’ve lost so many times in the course of my life’s marathon. That fun fact of 7x7 with the biblically perfect hodgepodge and the significance of that for me in real-time addressed a situation that I was currently preparing for. As I stated, my father-in-love passed away a few days prior to my birthday, and in the days to come I would find out that his homegoing would be at the very church that I painfully exited just a year ago. And the transition was very emotionally draining, infused with backlash and persecution, with a sprinkle of resentment, that could easily trigger me when in that environment. Since leaving in March of 2021, I’ve only been back once since then to lay my best friend to rest on December 16 of ‘21, which was just as painful. Earlier this year I came across a book by Tariq Trotter, a.k.a. Black Thought, called 7 Years: Words + Music | Vol. 18, and the lessons learned in this intriguing look into his life oozed out of me to seemingly seep into the cracks of this reopened wound that I had been reluctantly hoping would form a scab and heal up already. But it hadn’t, and here I was nursing this injury improperly, only allowing this non-treated infection to continue to grow into this mass of unforgiveness year after year. In this audiobook, he gave insights with transparency about his life and career in seven-year increments, and how the dynamics of our lives change every seven years. This made sense to me. It helped me understand a lot in this season in my life. And as I stepped ten toes down into this new chapter in my life cycle, I understood that it was time to finally DEAL with it. The proverbial band-aid needed to be ripped off, and the soothing ointment of forgiveness had to be applied. So in this 49th year, the goal is to FORGIVE. Not for others’ sake, but mine. I am required to offer not only unlimited forgiveness but mercy. So this week, as I prepare to give honor to a man that meant a lot to me and many others, I begin with an idiom that I heard many years ago but never understood or had to until now. It says to make (the) perfect the enemy of (the) good which means: to allow the demand, desire, or insistence for perfection to decrease the chances of obtaining a good or favorable result in the end. (Usually used in the negative as an imperative.) Or in layman’s terms, some of us, unfortunately, strive to live perfect lives (on the outside), when in actuality we can make the perfect enemy of good and not experience true happiness and peace in this lifetime on the inside. Just because a decision hurts doesn’t mean it’s the wrong decision. And in hindsight, I’ve also come to know that you might have to fight a battle more than once to win it. So, my goal in this 49th year around the sun is to FORGIVE and LEARN HOW TO TURN WOUNDS INTO WISDOM.