It’s baffling to me that something tiny enough to fit in my closed fist already carries everything it needs to become a massive oak. It too much to take in, an entire galaxy in the pin point prick of a star. And yet all the greatest achievements were at first only a speck, a wish, a dream. A bird growing inside the egg, waiting with tight, folded wings.
The Thief of Joy
Comparison only leaves you feeling defeated and unworthy. It steals your sense of contentment, robs you of perspective and leaves you feeling empty and joyless, and if you follow instructions as well as I do, wet. The bigger the gap, the greater the pain, the wetter the girl.