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Your true self…
It farts. It unfairly judges people. Sometimes it is a victim and sometimes it is a protagonist. It smells bad when left out too long on a humid day. It’s kind of ignorant and shallow at times. It sorts its underwear out when no one else is looking. And it once spat on a person when speaking, hopefully by mistake. What am I talking about?
You*.
Sorry if that was a low blow, but it’s true. In this world where perfectionism is as common as the iPhone** and just as essential to survive it gets kind of tricky to admit that… well, sometimes, now and then, we’re kind of, sort of, somewhat altogether not exactly perfect all of the time.
Get what I’m saying?
In fact not only does our imperfection cheekily manifest itself externally, we’re all internally a bit dodgy from time to time too. In my twentyfive years of research it seems that I might even be more internally dysfunctional than most. I won’t go into that… because, well actually, I want you to think I’m the sorted type. The type that doesn’t feel insecure about what I’ve said/done/haven’t done/felt/eaten/laughed at/produced at the end of the day. Have I convinced you??
So I was having one of those deep soul baring conversations with a dear dear friend over dinner this evening. The kind where there are moments where it the conversation goes down a route that all gets a bit risky and it’s uncomfortable to continue, but when all is said and heard you feel like a lighter version of yourself. Uncomfortable dialogue for the good of your soul.
I’m choosing not to go public with all of my issues on my blog. I have mixed feelings about this. I mainly choose not to because of all of the people I’m in relationship with in all kinds of ways… it’s not currently appropriate to let you know that I actually used to be a man***. Jokes, my ‘issues’ are way more complex than something trivial like a sex change.
