Eggshell white walls as vibrant as the numbness within me line my room in Concord, New Hampshire, where I reside during treatment for mental health and substance use disorder. It is the first week of June, and we seem to be experiencing the “Spring showers” part of New England seasons, however those of us that are familiar with our seasons know that we oftentimes have the privilege of feeling every single one within a mere few hours time. One might imagine that thirty days of treatment would warrant professionalism, a bit of mastery, and yet seventy year olds find themselves in unsettling positions all of the time, just as often perhaps as twenty-five year olds reach the top of their careers. Timelines are fallacies. Why is it that some of us reach excellence right away? I have caught myself feeling envious of those who “got it” right away, the ones that went through high school in a breeze, then college, then grad school, and you know, boom! Excellence just seemed to slap them across the face right from the womb. I used to grimace at the sight of their packed-from-home perfectly compiled school lunches as I spent my lunch hour pouting about my existence, puking in the bathroom, and getting high off property. Jealousy is painful; acceptance is glory, though, and I do not think my curvy, misshapen, chaotic journey would fit into any kind of straight and narrow, and I am learning to be grateful for that truth, one day at a time.