It's here... a bright, shiny new year. A clean slate. A blank page.
But, is it really?
As human beings, we're always searching for finish lines and starting gates. The race, the real work of the thing, gets lost in concept.
I'm just as guilty as the next person.
This year, I want to finally get healthy. I want to write more. I want to paint more. I want, I want, I want.
But who am I already?
At my core, I'm a deeply imperfect person. I don't say that with any disdain. I love my life, my imperfections. Right now, I'm sitting on the couch, writing this, watching a movie and drinking a glass of red wine. There are many things I could and probably should be doing... my kitchen is a mess, my laundry needs done... but I'm focused on (and possibly hyperfocused - it has recently come to my attention that hyperfocus is a symptom of attention deficit disorder which I have been vehemently ignoring that I have for years) what I want to do.
At some point, all this arbitrary bullshit that we continually pile onto ourselves in an attempt to "become a better person" just ends up being too much, right? Work out, eat right, travel more, spend more time with family, with friends, with ourselves... when do we just embrace our genuine humanness and stop becoming a list of shit we should be doing?
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