“So at what point do people get to stop trying to improve themselves and just accept their flaws as the way they are?”
I asked my friend this question over lunch, stealing some of his fries while waiting for his answer.
“Never,” he said. “I don’t think you ever stop trying to be better.”
Damn. In that case, I shouldn’t have eaten those fries. Really, I’d hoped for something more along the lines of, “Oh, usually around 42.” Something that would let me off the hook. A response that would allow me to give up the so-far unfulfilled promises to myself to shed the remaining irresponsible behaviors keeping me grounded at pretty good instead of soaring at great. Alas, apparently I must redouble my efforts towards progress instead.
On the upside, having struggled with the same (boring, childish) bad habits for, oh, my entire adult life (small strides, though, small strides!), at least I can refer back to an old post and not have to write everything out again.