The shirt second from the bottom of the stack is almost 40 years old. Most of its fuzz is gone, but remarkably, the elbows aren’t patched yet, even though it’s been worn hundreds of times. The purple one became an official “painting shirt” a dozen years ago, a decision I regretted the instant a splatter of paint soaked through the fabric.
Over the years I have reattached buttons and sewn torn places closed. I can’t quite seem to give any of them away. Twenty years from now they’ll still be hanging in my closet.
Be miserable if you want. I’m going to hit my goals and keep going. People are so quick to make excuses and feel sorry for themselves. Screw that. I’m personally tired of being in that mindset. I’ll be the person kicking my ass every day to get to where I want to be.