The falling is written, preordained and assigned to us long before we’re a whisper of a thought, a tiny hinting glimmer in our parent’s eyes. The crashes are destined, they will come despite what we prepare for, they will come despite our best intentions, our talents, our desperate pleas to spare this, if only this time around. We fall, we’re made this way, but it is not this toppling that defines us, that draws the borders around the people we are. It’s the rising. It has always been the rising.