I have started reading Notes to Myself by Hugh Prather.
It is a book of paragraphs.

I find it hard to summerize this one. The book is more of a conversation with oneself. Slowly progressing and learning and basing ideas on the last. What I learn from it is moving through life with a balance of rational, feelings, and intuition. Living in the moment, accepting yourself, loving yourself, and forgiving yourself.

Things like…

If the desire to write is not accompanied by actual writing then the desire is not to write.

Standing before the refrigerator:
If I have to ask myself if I’m hungry,
I’m not.

My trouble is I analyze life,
instead of live it.

Perfectionism is slow death. If everything were to turn out just like I would want it to, just like I would plan for to, then i would never experience anything new; my life would be an endless repetition of stale successes. When I make a mistake I experience something unexpected.

I sometimes react to making a mistake as if I have betrayed myself. My fear of making a mistake seems to be based on the hidden assumption that I am potentially perfect and that if I can just be very careful I will not fall from heaven. But a “mistake” is a declaration of the way I am, a jolt to the way I intend, a reminder I am not dealing with the facts. When I have listened to my mistake I have grown.