maybe I wasn’t born unfinished

born unfinished

====

“It is pretty to be in love. It’s magical, I’m sure. But it’s also wonderful to stop for ice cream in your prom dress with six other girls. It’s also wonderful to go visit the world with nothing but a bunch of buddies who are really excited about learning. The problem is: we’ve made everything about “the one”.

But maybe “the one” is just you, loving yourself, having fun, and being happy. Maybe instead of looking for our other halves, we should be piecing ourselves together.

Maybe I wasn’t born unfinished. Maybe I am the one who makes myself better.”

===

This piece today isn’t about love, it about:

unfinished create tattoo

“maybe I wasn’t born unfinished”

When I read that line I stopped. Reread it. And challenged almost everything I have ever written and said about self and sense of self.

I love the thought.

I do think far far too often we find ourselves through others. It is kind of natural because comparisons tend to offer some outlines. It’s not that we shouldn’t look around us and find things we like, and dislike, and assess, but emulate? Yikes. I hesitate. At least a little.

I would much rather we see, think and assess and rather than simply emulate we evaluate who and what we are already. Maybe use the external to invigorate and energize the internal.

And maybe I suggest this because far far too often we think we are a reflection of our experiences rather than a reflection of who we are simply coming to life.

Is this a chicken or egg discussion? Maybe. But in one aspect you can suggest you are built by the external and in another aspect you can be suggesting you are simply blooming as you weather life.

Semantics? Sure. But an important one in my eyes.

Look.

I don’t want this to sound like it is an either or discussion. But I do love the thought of believing you are not born unfinished. I love the thought that everything you need resides within and all you need to do is figure out how to growing up see melet it out, and shine, and grow.   It is kind of like the latin thought of luctor et emergo <I struggle and emerge>.

I do love the thought that maybe it is not who you are that could hold you back from what you could be ,but more often than not the challenge is who you think you are not. Ponder that for a second or two.

I say that because if you focus on the ‘think’ aspect you end up seeking external to validate, or as a corollary the external invalidates <voids, annuls>, that which resides within you and who you are.

That is a very very dangerous Life game.

It is dangerous because instead of piecing yourself together you steal or borrow pieces from others to shape yourself and you become, well, a Frankenstein <maybe not that bad but you get the point>. Or maybe you end up sacrificing parts of yourself to please the external.

All that said. I am sure the reality of a healthy self is somewhere in between. Sometimes uncovering that which exists within and sometimes finding a piece you see and borrowing it as you piece yourself together <although I could argue that any piece you see, and borrow, more often than not is something you already have within and that external piece simply brought your own finished, but unseen, piece to the forefront>.

Anyway.

I am a huge hope guy. I believe the biggest hope of all is the one we all carry within us, a hope we are born with, the one which is a hope to be the best person we can be.

====

“I hoped for nothing. And yet I lived in expectation.”

Stanislaw Lem

====

It is a hope of all that can be and, yet, ‘nothing’ in that it has yet to be.

It is a hopeful contradiction — to live in expectation of something and yet tempered with aspects of nothing. I love the hope found in the thought of being unfinished dreams zaimricochetborn finished and we don’t need others to piece us together and that each of us is strong enough, and born good enough. The thought that all we have is within us.

I certainly believe, and know, Life is significantly better not lived alone. But what an incredibly empowering thought … “maybe I wasn’t born unfinished and I am the one who makes me better.”

But maybe “the one” is just you.

What a fucking beautiful thought.

I wish I had written it.

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Written by Bruce