If I were guaranteed not to fail, I’d finally live exactly as my soul whispers, without flinching at the world’s raised eyebrows.
I’d plant that wild hillside garden I dream of, part chaos, part Eden with herbs that heal, flowers that sing to bees, and a crooked bench under an ancient tree where I’d write until the moon came up.
I’d open a space for lost souls and wandering hearts, a place for tea, talk, laughter, and maybe a few tears. No judgment, no pretending, no masks. Just truth.
I’d paint without worrying if it was “good.”
Speak without worrying if it was “too much.”
Love without worrying if it was “safe.”
Because maybe failure isn’t the real thing we fear, maybe it’s being seen.
And if I couldn’t fail, I’d choose to be seen completely, wildly, and unapologetically, flaws, freckles, faith, and all.
Message from Granny Frass:
“Ah, shur, pet, failure’s only a fancy word for learning in disguise. The trick is to trip with style, land on your feet, and pretend it was part of the dance all along. Now go on, plant that garden, and stop waiting for permission from the universe. You are the permission.”
Mae 🧡
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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