How, does one commit entirely to an attempt at holding true to oneself?
Is one required to possess certain traits, or maintain a character made of steel – an empathetic heart, and giving ear, compassionate all year round, no matter the season. call me a cynic, but – who am i kidding here?
Our concept of perfection is simply an idealistic one. Perfection is an illusion, we’re fixated on achieving. It’s a path, we feel we’re damned to tread. Building barriers while pressing of specific characteristics an ideal person must encompass.
We are difficult and hard on ourselves; and others. Constructing often unreasonable pedestals; building hope and misunderstood expectations upon situations and circumstance. We believe, in order to be joy giving, hope bearing, one must be free from any gut-wrenching negativity. We deceive ourselves into believing, we need to be completely pure. void of misery, in fear it will breed like wildfire; one we have no way of putting out.
While we yearn to be surrounded by good will and fairy dust – yet none of us truly are; not all the time at least. Not beyond closed doors, nor under our doonas where be hide, afraid of judgment and criticism. We can’t possibly be, all rounders, with our edges filed down from causing any hurt. and that is what humanity is. Perhaps, even what being human is essentially about.
The dark and gritty corners, no fingers wish to graze. The rough, uneven patches of wet gravel. These wounds, brimming with yellow-green pus, and itching with dried scabs flaking upon any physical contact.
It is vulnerability, and openness.
No matter how crooked, awkward or unconventionally flawed.