so much of me has been spent going against my own nature. iāve found myself in situations where, the moment (in theory controlled, sublime) feels awfully empty. and thatās the part no one prepares you for⦠when everything is designed perfectly, but itās still not quite right. thereās a kind of mourning that comes with leaving this and not just for the people or the place, but for the version of yourself that tried (and very hard!) to make it work. but thereās also a freedom in it. in choosing the scary, the dissonant. in finally understanding that peace isnāt always found in the perfect moments but in the most honest ones maybe it is as simple as that-
if youāre not having fun, just leave!
Nothing is every truly perfect, and upon realizing that itās easy to fall victim to disillusion and find yourself on the other end of the spectrum ā this thing must be imperfect and flawed and broken.
But what if you lived in the tension space? Where nothing is ever truly perfect and where nothing is going to fully be all that you need it to be? Can you find yourself between those two opposing camps?
Itās easier to date someone and marry someone and love someone when you realize theyāre not perfect, and they never will be, and you get to love them in spite of their imperfections. There are bands that shift and grow and their sounds change and they get written off ā no! How wonderful is it to accept that people change and sounds change and genres change! That restaurant that made you that one dish that one time that you canāt stop dreaming about? One day youāll order it again and it wonāt be as good; do you write off that restaurant? NO! You go again! Because bad days happen!
Iām on a rant, and it doesnāt even make complete sense, but Iām very tired of feeling like everything has to be entirely perfect otherwise itās imperfect. Itās so silly to write things off like that, so naive too. The world doesnāt work by making everything exactly how you need it to be, itās our job to encounter things that arenāt ideal and learn to live with them in spite of all the imperfections.
every challenge and pleasure you experience is meant to be observed, sometimes examined, to check-in about how youāre evolving in the process of being your best self. success is ambiguous and subjective, itās whatever it means to you, but for me itās to be fully myself, take care and have a nice time. when a shit thing happens or i donāt get my way, iāve come to see it as a blessing and purposeful, and i ask myself what i could possibly learn from it. thereās always a thing to learn, even if itās mere acceptance. itās saved my mental life, i tell ya that sometimes you think youāve āpassed a testā but the situation is a āpop quizā in a different format: how you perform on that assessment is not meant to trick you but to check in on your progress and maybe illuminate areas that still need your attention, something else to learn because the timing and scenario is different. itās beautiful.
š³āš»hear me outš¤š»š³ sometimes our dreams are no longer a source of motivation or inspiration and sometimes we cling so hard to them that we cause ourselves a lot of mental anguish and disappointment. We attach our identity to things like getting our dream job and when we donāt get the job our sense of self collapses.
Lately Iāve been thinking a lot about the Jenny Holzer phrase, āProtect me from what I want,ā and how it can be so freeing to let desire drop away to remember the things you already have. Such as innate worthiness as a human being regardless of the dream you couldnāt obtain š«¶š»
āI used to make long speeches to you after you left. I used to talk to you all the time, even though I was alone. I walked around for months talking to you. Now I don't know what to say. It was easier when I just imagined you. I even imagined you talking back to me. We'd have long conversations, the two of us. It was almost like you were there. I could hear you, I could see you, smell you. I could hear your voice. Sometimes your voice would wake me up. It would wake me up in the middle of the night, just like you were in the room with me. Then... it slowly faded. I couldn't picture you anymore. I tried to talk out loud to you like I used to, but there was nothing there. I couldn't hear you. Then... I just gave it up. Everything stopped. You just... disappeared. And now I'm working here. I hear your voice all the time. Every man has your voice.ā