A person cannot be contained inside a box. They have no limitations. Physical limitations maybe. Emotional limitations. But who they are is endless, like the universe. They just keep going. Someone who used to be shy can turn into someone outgoing. A socialite can turn into a recluse. A narcissist into an altruist or philanthropist. Who they were will remain part of them, but just not as strong. We change. Our ideas of ourselves change. We encounter new situations and they cause us to question ourselves, what we believe or believed.
I think it can be said that in our lives, we go through periods of bliss and periods of turmoil and we feel like one will eventually subdue the other. One will take permanence. Because whether we’re experiencing that blissful or tumultuous time, we always ask ourselves the same question.
“How long will this last?”
As simple as someone may seem, I know they are infinite. God is infinite, so they must be also. People who label themselves one thing or a couple of things have really started to disappoint me. Recently, when someone has asked me what I do, I’ve had this impulse to say “I am me,” and nothing else. But I know they won’t understand, and so I say what makes sense to them. “I’m a student. And I work at Starbucks.” Sorry, but I much prefer my first answer. I don’t know how many times more I can go without saying it instead.
I moved out here, away from everyone and everything I know, and in the process, forgot who I am. Admitting to this is scarier than I thought it would be. How could I lose myself so easily? I already know the answer is because I lost my sight on God.
I’m not sure how to be anymore. I want to be myself and know that people enjoy who I am. To live without expectations from anyone, so I can make mistakes and be forgiven, encouraged, and loved despite. I live in fear of what I could do wrong, even if I haven’t done anything wrong yet. Eventually, I will do something wrong, and the present fear keeps me from myself. It’s exhausting, living this way. All my energy and joy is smothered by the constant worry about whether or not I’m being how I should be. Sometimes, trying to be what people expect me to be ends up being the wrong thing to do. But when I’m myself, I do wrong too.
I miss when the only expectations I had to meet were the ones set by myself and God. If I failed myself, I could give myself a good tongue-lashing. And if I failed God, I would cry and say I was sorry and I’d try harder and God would whisper in my ear, “I love you, even in all your faults and sin. I love you so much. I won’t let you go, even when you do wrong, because I adore you.” And when I heard that, it made me want to be that much better.
I am something beautiful decorated in flaws.