Musings

Unfinished

I think that it’s important to know who you are, and to learn about yourself. I think it’s good to have strong convictions and be certain about your identity. But I also know that people are always changing. We let go of things and we grasp new ideas and ways of being. We have to be able to adjust and reconsider our identities in order to grow as people. Maybe this is that. Maybe I am letting go of the parts of me that no longer fit. I know that I am a becoming, not a being. I am never going to be finished, it is an endless process. I think that’s what makes it so terrifying. Just when I think I know myself, just when I think I’ve come to understand parts of myself, the game changes. Everything shifts, and I have to start again.

 

I thought I knew myself well. I had this idea of who I thought I was carved into my mind. I have built this person from my experiences, my heartaches and memories. But the problem is that this person, the person I believed to be me, cannot live up to my own expectations. Each time I fall short, I punish myself. She is not real. I am not solid or complete. Holding myself to these ridiculous standards is damaging. I am damaging myself. The truth is, I wont always be the person I want to be. I need to forgive myself for that.

The idea of re-learning, rebuilding and creating parts of who I am scares me. In some ways I know that it’s necessary. It is inevitable, we are constantly creating and re-fashioning who we are. But it doesn’t mean that it’s easy. Moments like these only really happen when they need to. When we lose sight of who we would like to be or when we are remain stagnant for too long, life forces change. It’s natural. We have to grow to live.

I am unfinished. I am a piece of art. I am different colours and textures all meshed into one piece of live expression. I am changing, moving and living. Each day, something new is added to me. I am endless, unstable and unrecognisable. If you blink too long, you wont know who I am. Each day I am new. Each day I am different.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be terrifying. Maybe it’s just difficult, simple, chaotic and beautiful.

“Maybe” is all I have and I guess I am learning that it’s okay.

 

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