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She’d tried to make the best choices—strategic choices, true—but also at least decently moral choices (there was a sliding scale on most things), always with the eye that one day her record, her history might come to light.
Choices are made, regrets are managed, consequences arise.
She had thought that the list was her form of confession—to jot down the error of her ways and be absolved simply by acknowledging her mistakes. But that wasn’t restitution; that wasn’t taking a wrong and making it right. And over these past few weeks, she said, she’d learned the difference between recognizing that she could be fallible and accepting ownership of it. And wasn’t that, after all, what the point of this whole thing was? Not governing, she noted. But living.
she gave herself credit because she was pretty brave too. Not perfect. But brave and perfect didn’t have to be synonymous.
