The nicest thing you can do for yourself is to forgive yourself for the missing of deadlines. Forgive and try to do better. Because once you have failed at something you’ve set out to do, it’s too late. That iteration has failed and all you can do is move forward. It’s trite but still true.
I know I’ve been missing a few of these. My brain feels empty. My heart placid. Without the roil, without the sturm and drang, without the churn, it’s hard to write anything. I miss the passion. The surety of purpose. The faith in hunanity.