Your perceived "mistakes" may not be mistakes at all -- they're unlikely strokes of luck, catalysts for personal evolution, and pathways out of negative circumstances. And with time, you embrace the reality that, actually, there are no mistakes -- only blessings in disguise.

How we treat others should be a choice that reflects our character -- not a reaction to other people's character. So, I choose to be kind because my kindness will define me. Not my parents. Not my relationships. Not my sexuality. Not my work. But my kindness.

This morning the chapter I was reading is called "Nonagression and the Four Maras." It talks about the night in which Buddha was to attain enlightenment and he sat under a tree.

While I truly believe that the choices we make and even the thoughts we think all matter greatly and affect the outcome of our existence, I also believe there is also another force at work and our role is actually more of a co-creator in our own lives.

One of the great teachings in spiritual life is this: It doesn't matter what is happening. What matters is how we respond. How we respond is what determines our happiness and peace of mind.

Today, I still need my scooter and wheelchair to get around. But something inside me has changed. I have a sense of freedom that is in some ways more powerful and sustainable than what I felt when I could walk and dance and run and play.

Life is a collection of missteps, mistakes and misjudgments transformed to understanding. The regret of our neglected intuition turns to awareness, as we accept the lesson within the experience.

My mind settled down by the time the flight attendant announced our arrival in Boston, at which point it dawned on me that Philippa was exhibiting three great human qualities: acceptance, tolerance, and forgiveness.

In all your years of schooling from kindergarten to whatever year you completed, did you ever take one course that taught you how to navigate the hurts, dramas, traumas, upsets and disappointments that come with life?

I can't say that my father was ready for death or that any of us was ready for him to go. But I believe that thanks to hospice care, and some miracle of timing and life force and will that I will never quite understand, my dad's death was as beautiful as a death can be.

Lately, I have found some new clarity and freedom in realizing that there is a difference between accepting the other person for who and what they are, and honestly concluding that I don't care what they do or say.