Realizing Reality (also, I’m basically 25)

Today I laughed.

Many times.

I didn’t even really realize it until later tonight when I was telling a couple people about some of the funny things that happened. It occurred to me that, Wait. I haven’t been laughing and I’m laughing again.

How can this make sense? I wondered.

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“We can’t know what [anyone’s] thinking or why [anyone] is or isn’t taking an action to which you’ve ascribed a value.”

There. It was out in the open. The truth that we both knew.

I hesitated before I finally responded, “It’s funny that I pretend I know because my mind wants a solution to what it’s decided is a problem.”

“Right. But really it doesn’t matter. ‘There is no why.’ [Anyone] is doing what [anyone] thinks [anyone] needs to do right now.”

“Just like I’m doing my best, too.”

“Exactly.”

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I’m not enough, I believe. My head knows it’s not true, but deep down inside there’s a rotten lie that spoils the entire system.

“I’m not open. I’m open with YOU,” I felt stunned.

“How many people are we supposed to be open with?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. I think he was still showing me there’s nothing wrong with me.

See, not being good enough implies that I do most things incorrectly, thereby solidifying my fate as Unloveable. This also means that No One Will Accept Me When They See I’m Not Good Enough and it means that Shame will probably be my regular residence for hiatus.

101 Shame does not allow laughter or joy. Its regulars are fear, sorrow, grief, blame, sadness, powerlessness, inadequacy (so on and so forth).

It’s a real gem of a castle.

But its predominant quality is its unapologetic ability to stunt growth and cause dormancy (which leads to deterioration) of dreams, and the ability to believe anything at all (save for its persuasive declarations of helplessness and blame).

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I’m friggin wonderful, yall. I’m funny, caring, loving, and clever.

Also, yesterday some girl told me she thought I was her age while her jaw dropped.

“How old are you?” (If I could raise one eyebrow at a time, this would have been the occasion.)

“Twenty-five.”

Insert my jaw dropping, “Well? Yoga slows the aging process?”

As if it were up in question at all.

Ha.