The absolute worst thing in life is realizing that mommies don't have the answer anymore.
That there is no bow, no beautiful wrapping, or perfect serenity in anything she can offer you.
You realize, finally, perhaps belatedly, that it's time to make your own decisions,
and you can't help but feel absolutely, shit-renderingly terrified about doing it wrong.
But there might be some solace, if you search deep enough, in the wisdom of her
introduction to your adulthood: nothing is wrong. Nothing is right, either; nothing
is so easily defined that one choice brings riches and the other ruination. The only thing
that is true failure is being too fucking scared to make a decision at all, to run and
cower in the cloying embrace of childhood ignorance, and turn away from the chance--
as slim as it may be--to make the best of whatever our decisions beget.
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