the mess


I'll never be well poised. I'm not well kept.

My knees are scraped. My mind is wild.

But I'm proud.

You see, these are all signs of who I am, and to hide them would mean that I'm ashamed. But the scrape my knee is the sign of a bike ride across town. The words that come out with no sign of eloquence, are raw, creative, and the mark of a thoughtful mind. My house isn't pristine because I stayed out too late enjoying friends and live music. The resulting, scabbing mess on my knee, the dust bunny blowing in the fan, the hangover - those are life's battle wounds, and they're my proof that I'm alive and living in a way that I believe in.

I'm done trying to fix it. It's taken ups and downs to get here. I spent a lot of time concealing certain parts of myself, but lately there's been a revelation causing me to embrace what's true. Maybe you have to try to be something you aren't in order to figure out who you actually are. I lay all my cards on the table, probably share a bit too much with other people, but I'm not ashamed of any of it. I'm fallible, and adventurous, and broken, and strong, and wise, and silly, and relentless all at the same time. It's a messy combination of a person, for sure. There is nothing clean about it.

The personal journeys, the tears, the bellowing's the fabric of life. And the mess of it makes me feel alive. I'm going to keep living it. I'm going to keep sharing it. I no longer care if what you see is a perfect package.

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