Twelve. I had twelve fricken blisters. Twelve annoying, excruciatingly painful blisters; twelve little swollen mounds of encapsulated liquid intent on ruining my life. I sighed, staring at them glumly. The fact none had popped was beside the point. They were there on my feet, in places I didn’t know you could even get a blister. … Continue reading Why perfection is a self-limiting belief and counter-productive for goals