There is so much unsaid about the strength to put one foot in front of the other. To pick up the pieces of everything you are, trap it in a duffle bag and hope that you do not drop more things than you expect. Because I’m learning that it is naive to hope that you do not drop a thing or two, or maybe four, it is an unfair pressure that we put on ourselves to be “perfect.” To be defined by a word that sounds different in every tongue that speaks it. For some people, a word that has no recollection of what it feels like to stop and breathe. It is a word that loses more of itself with every uncelebrated lesson learned and blurred vision when the day refuses to bring you the smile you ordered.
I am convinced that the beauty of digging deep and finding the courage to choose the fight you have no control of winning and losing is the first step in realizing that if the sun rises again, so can your fight. I know that some days will feel like a truck lost control and drove away with all of your stuff. Some days there will be a pain in your muscles that feels like a haunted house with a familiar suitcase. And some days, every voice in your head will remind you of the fall that happened when you were 4, that made you doubt every single dream and aspiration. But nothing will beat the feeling of carrying the weight of your drowning guts and choosing not to let the fear of every story you have told yourself stop you from braving the new challenge.
I wonder what it feels like to accept the perfect imperfections and cling to trusting that the world will accept us just as we are, flaws and blemishes included.
