Perfection.

I spend a lot of time reaching for some imaginary pocket of perfection. Some place or time in life where my finances are squared away, my house is tidy, my work does not follow me home, I am taking care of myself, I am sleeping, the world is in harmony.

I know very well this is an imaginary desire of my making. The world, has never been, will never be in harmony. Lately things seem so intense, which is almost silly to say after monthsandmonthsandmonths of news feeds that seem straight out of science fiction. At times I want to run away, turn off the noise and there is value to that, to sticking to you head in the sand for a bit. A false sense of protection is a form of self care, indeed.

But when you bring your head back into focus it will all still be there. We all know this.

In my constant pursuit for perfection, in my acting in complete denial, in my avoidance of the truth, that it will never be perfect, that it will always be fucked up and tragic, that the news paper will never say “everything’s fine.”

In all that.

In all that I deny myself the ability for acceptance, for achieving peace in hard moments, for transformation under pressure.

There is nothing to capiture there is only truth.

Acceptance isn’t giving up. It’s working with what you’ve got. Acceptance deciding to reach for something else, within yourself, that feels but better and is more easily accessed. Acceptance is harmony.

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