Imperfect Edges

January 8, 2017

“But I Don’t Want to Be Fake”

“I feel like I should be an open book,” she said. “You know, I want to be authentic with everyone.”

“I get it,” I replied. “You don’t want to be fake.”

“Right,” she murmured through the tears. “But people have used what I’ve told them against me. Thrown it back in my face. I don’t think I can tell everybody everything.”

“Correct. And you don’t have to Sweetheart.”

Wanting to be authentic is honorable. But can one be authentic and maintain her privacy?

Yeah. Of course.

If you ask me what the inside of my house looks like, I will give you a few details. But I won’t give you the key to my front door.

If you want to read my writing I’ll direct you to my blog. But I won’t hand you my journal.

If you ask me if I have demons I’ll say, “Of course I do.” But I won’t introduce them to you.

The front door key, the journal, the vivid descriptions of deeply personal struggles – those are not for everyone. Those are for a select few. Would you hand a child a fragile piece of pottery? Would you give a stranger at the bar your bank account password? Would you ask your next door neighbor for a pelvic exam?

There is something to be said for keeping the fragile parts of you sacred. For revealing certain aspects only to those who have shown you that they can handle them with care.

See, some people will see your darkness and react with disgust or shaming or gossip or indifference or confusion. They simply aren’t ready for your story. They’re likely not yet comfortable with their own.

But. There are those who will see your darkness and react with compassion and empathy and understanding and openness and love. You won’t regret showing these people all of you. In fact, you will feel lighter when you do. Take time and care in finding these souls. They’ll be revealed to you when you need them.

Darling, you don’t owe the whole world a look through your living room window. Keeping your blinds closed at night doesn’t mean you’re fake. It means you have solid boundaries around what is precious.

This post is dedicated to my select few.

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The Truest Sentence that You Know

December 29, 2016January 4, 2017

The Truest Sentence That You Know

“I’m a fucking disaster,” I typed into the text message box. I wasn’t proud of it. I wasn’t happy about it. If you must know, I was actually hiding under a blanket when I sent it to one of my best friends. But it was the truth as I knew it in that moment.

Good writing, they say, starts with just one true sentence. The truest sentence that you know. It doesn’t have to be true yesterday or tomorrow. Just right now.

But that’s a difficult thing, isn’t it? Declaring your truth in one particular moment.

Because, I’m learning, truth can change. What was real yesterday may not be real today.

Yesterday I needed to be alone. Today I want to socialize.

Yesterday I would have walked through fire for him. Today I never want to see him again.

Yesterday I could do 25 double-unders in a row. Today I can’t even do two.

Yesterday I was content with my town. Today I want to breathe in the whole world.

I want to be strong, consistent, dependable. But that’s so damn hard when I’m made of all this fickle humanness. I want to inspire and uplift. But how can that happen when I do things I’m not proud of? I want to be productive and motivated. But that feels impossible when I’m exhausted and fearful.

So here I am on this personal development train. I’m very publicly on this personal development train. Sometimes I get confused and think that requires a steady, upward trajectory, with no fuck-ups allowed. You know, staying on the Nice list forever. Being consistent and always doing the “right” thing. But that’s when I’m forgetting that there is a person under that ~~blanket~~ process.

Development is not a point in time at which one arrives.

It is not perfection or Utopia or an ideal.

It is not to be put on a pedestal and glorified.

It is not all positive.

It is not absolute.

It is a sometimes ugly, messy process that includes doing shitty things and learning from them.

But when we have the courage to say the ugly out loud, we remove some of its power. My shame-filled, true-as-I-knew-it sentence helped me to start a conversation with a trusted friend who responded to my text by saying, “You’re not unique, and I mean that to be comforting. So many people go through shit like this. Give yourself a little grace.”

His words helped to de-isolate me and put things in perspective. They gently removed me from a falsely constructed pedestal. They brought me comfort. And he’s right. Every one of us suffers. Every one of us feels undeserving and messy sometimes. But if we don’t say it, how can the burden get lighter?

So, fellow fickle humans, when you don’t like yourself, when you’re struggling, or ashamed, or confused, start with the truest sentence that you know. It doesn’t have to be a Facebook status, or a bullhorn announcement. It can be a scribble in your journal or a text to one trusted friend – and it doesn’t have to be pretty.

One of my favorite sentences is, “This, too, shall pass.” A simple reminder that nothing is permanent. A humbling and comforting thought if you ask me.

Sometimes the truest sentence I can construct is, “I’m a fucking disaster.” And I’m learning to be ok with that. Because in other moments, I could truthfully say, “I’m awesome and I’ve got this.”

Dark

Black and White? No Thanks, I’ll Live in the Gray Area

Dark

“To fully appreciate something, one must also fully experience its opposite.”

We sort of know this. But we don’t like it. We want all the glory, all the depth, all the good stuff. But we don’t want to go through any darkness to get there. Because it’s messy. It’s painful. It’s ugly. It’s embarrassing. It’s hard. We want to be bright lights all the time. Good vibes only. No mistakes. But that’s not reality. And the sooner we accept that, the better off we’ll be.

“I love you no matter what,” I said recently to a friend who had suffered a major setback. “If this was the 47th time you failed, I would still love you. If this was the 900th time you failed, I would still love you. Failing is part of it and you are amazing regardless.”

Later that day, my stomach twisted violently when I had the thought, “Would I be able to say the same thing to myself? Am I able to love myself through every failure, setback, mistake, and broken promise? Through all the dark?”

Are any of us able to do that?

I fail every day. I often disappoint and even disgust myself. Sometimes the dark in me feels overwhelming. Sometimes it feels unloveable. Unforgivable. In those times, I want to distract myself. Be busy. Be with people. Turn up the music. Work too hard. Work out too hard. Scroll scroll scroll through the newsfeed. Anything to stay in the light.

But again… To fully appreciate something, one must also fully experience its opposite.

And to fully experience, we must stop avoiding. Scurrying. Jabbering. Spending. Scrolling. Gossiping. Fretting. We must face and embrace the dark.

The times I’m a liar show me how valuable it is to speak my truth.

The times I’m a pushover show me how valuable it is to stand my ground.

The times I’m overcompensating show me how valuable it is to be subtle.

The times I’m materialistic show me how valuable it is to simplify.

We appreciate the light because of the dark. The beauty is in the contrast. The lessons are in the contrast. The life is in the contrast.

Black and white. High and low. Major and minor. Loud and quiet. It’s messy and it’s a masterpiece.

I don’t trust people who appear squeaky clean anymore. And, please, don’t think I’m squeaky clean. I assure you, I’m not. But this admission – this acknowledgement – is so necessary. So healing. I accept that the dark is there. It’s there in me. It’s there in you. But it’s not an enemy. It’s a gift. Maybe not the gift we had our sights set on, but the gift we need.

So sit with the lights off every now and then. Notice all the dark and crooked parts in you, but don’t hate them. Know that they are supposed to be there. Be brave enough to explore them. To feel them. To heal them. Quit trying to drown them out with positivity and busyness and validation.

Tree branches are twisted, rough, and gnarled. Still beautiful.

Sunsets are fiery, fleeting, and unpredictable. Still beautiful.

YOU are confused, tired, and struggling. STILL FUCKING BEAUTIFUL.

Wrestling with Our Demons is Not Pretty. And That’s Ok.