A Spark by Innocent Mwatsikesimbe from Questions Asked, chapter 4

The same hurdle keeps coming back because it was never cleared — only collided with. A mistake that taught nothing isn’t finished; it’s still ahead on the track, set at the same height, waiting. And the options narrow with every lap: learn the jump, or keep absorbing the crash until there’s nothing left to absorb it.

Jumping is learned, not granted with age. Bodies grow on their own; minds grow only on purpose, and the proof should be visible — “Better and more efficient ways to live our lives should be evident.” Innocent’s check is a plain audit of past mistakes: which ones have actually been rectified, backed by facts and examples rather than a warm sense of progress.

The measure he offers is simple: you have grown when, today, “you can achieve the unattainable feats of yesterday.” A baby can’t walk. Then, by growing and trying, she can. The hurdle never shrinks; the legs learn.