One of my favourite authors ever wrote:
“I think we keep these moments of rejection and acceptance very close. I think we carry them always, like cracked shells from which a part of us once hatched.”
I take approval and acceptance very seriously, so to speak. So I know how it feels when I have to dish out my "stamp of approval" and instead of saying what I really feel, I weigh the pros and cons of saying what needs to be heard and what wants to be heard. I totally get it, we tell people things because we all have a desire to be understood, to know we are not alone in how we feel. There is nothing lonelier than feeling like nobody gets you. But lately it feels like it's all backfiring on me and I've slowly grown into becoming a "nice" person. Don't get me wrong, being nice is lovely. Nice is like taking an afternoon nap. Nice is like a breeze, as compared to a gale. But is nice enough?
At 21, when you start to go through brand new feelings and cliche life experiences, being nice just somehow doesn't cut it. It's like comparing drinking cold water to jumping into the pool on a hot summer's day. It's like getting a hug to getting swooped off your feet and given a big kiss. It's nice, but there is always something out there better. Being nice was just ingrained and programmed, but I feel like I am missing out on so many things because I'm just nice, and nice people give way to chances, they allow disappointments and endure unfairness. Nice people truly believe deep down that something better is just around the river bend, they just have to be hopeful and patient. Good things to those who wait. Hey, guess what, B R E A K I N G N E W S - being nice is not enough.
Which is also sorta why 80% of my time on social media is spent diligently curating the "best side of me" to show. Every instagram picture is the result of taking multiple shots of the same thing and choosing the "best" one, before using different apps to "zhng" it and make it more appealing to people. Such begins my downward spiral into a horrible need to validate how well my pictures (me, really) take to people, and if it's even acceptable.
Isn't that kinda warped, that I've begin to settle for being acceptable, and not the best. Is my self worth so low that I depend on other people to find my joy. My mind's gone all hay wired and -
I am in need of some de-cluttering. Like the warzone that I've wrecked on my bedroom floor, my life similarly has become equally disruptive and destructive. Maybe I didn't see it before, but it's all so clear to me now, you know that moment when shit just hits the fan and you feel death encroaching too close for comfort and all of a sudden you're in limbo and life flashes before your eyes. There you go. I am having my moment of clarity and I am either going to explode or implode, and I am not capable of exploding.
“I think we keep these moments of rejection and acceptance very close. I think we carry them always, like cracked shells from which a part of us once hatched.”
I take approval and acceptance very seriously, so to speak. So I know how it feels when I have to dish out my "stamp of approval" and instead of saying what I really feel, I weigh the pros and cons of saying what needs to be heard and what wants to be heard. I totally get it, we tell people things because we all have a desire to be understood, to know we are not alone in how we feel. There is nothing lonelier than feeling like nobody gets you. But lately it feels like it's all backfiring on me and I've slowly grown into becoming a "nice" person. Don't get me wrong, being nice is lovely. Nice is like taking an afternoon nap. Nice is like a breeze, as compared to a gale. But is nice enough?
At 21, when you start to go through brand new feelings and cliche life experiences, being nice just somehow doesn't cut it. It's like comparing drinking cold water to jumping into the pool on a hot summer's day. It's like getting a hug to getting swooped off your feet and given a big kiss. It's nice, but there is always something out there better. Being nice was just ingrained and programmed, but I feel like I am missing out on so many things because I'm just nice, and nice people give way to chances, they allow disappointments and endure unfairness. Nice people truly believe deep down that something better is just around the river bend, they just have to be hopeful and patient. Good things to those who wait. Hey, guess what, B R E A K I N G N E W S - being nice is not enough.
Which is also sorta why 80% of my time on social media is spent diligently curating the "best side of me" to show. Every instagram picture is the result of taking multiple shots of the same thing and choosing the "best" one, before using different apps to "zhng" it and make it more appealing to people. Such begins my downward spiral into a horrible need to validate how well my pictures (me, really) take to people, and if it's even acceptable.
Isn't that kinda warped, that I've begin to settle for being acceptable, and not the best. Is my self worth so low that I depend on other people to find my joy. My mind's gone all hay wired and -
I am in need of some de-cluttering. Like the warzone that I've wrecked on my bedroom floor, my life similarly has become equally disruptive and destructive. Maybe I didn't see it before, but it's all so clear to me now, you know that moment when shit just hits the fan and you feel death encroaching too close for comfort and all of a sudden you're in limbo and life flashes before your eyes. There you go. I am having my moment of clarity and I am either going to explode or implode, and I am not capable of exploding.
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