06.29.25
For better or for worse, I have finally submitted to being human.
All my life, I never wanted to be just another one of them.
But now, I accept that that’s just what I am.
And it’s freeing. I feel ordinary, and I’m not mad about it.
*expansion of the same thought above*
08.02.25
Thus far, I’ve spent most of my waking life straining and striving for “perfection.” But what’s crazy is how pointless it is—quite counterproductive actually because my perfectionistic mindset induces paralyzing fear and procrastination by making the prospect of everything a lot bigger of a burden than it needs to be (I habitually make mountains out of molehills in my mind’s eye).
But in a car ride home some time ago, I had the lovely realization: I think that I’m finally beginning to accept my humanity.
Being perfectionistic was in large part due to me wanting for so long to not be “another average Joe” or “just another one of them.” But I’m seeing now that that’s just what I am, and I’m not mad about it. I feel free, maybe even happy.
The irony is that once I accept that I’m an average Joe, I realize that there are no average Joes (what!). And every Joe is someone special and unique, a whole little world of a person and soul—it’s just a matter of which Joes I get to meet and know more than the rest of them.
And the acceptance of my own “average”-Joeness allows me to actually start to realize my own special-Joeness.
Imperfection is not only special; it’s vitally beautiful.
