Things are, for the first time, not so bad.

For the first time in my life, I honestly feel like things are not so bad.  I know that sounds slack, and halfway dishonest. For the first time in my life, I don't think of perfection as the sole goal to living.  I understand that process is the point, the end of the journey, and it is a profound cliche: the point of living is to err, to correct, to find solutions that aren't immediately evident, to deal with unexpected layers of events you had no idea could even occur before they did.  To understand the mounting tension in a Bach string quartet, before it slowly disintegrates back to a few simple lines.