It’s never easy when we, as people, have to admit to being less than our finest selves. I’m sorry might be the hardest two words in this girl’s english language…I’m a stubborn kid, but I owe someone an apology. I used the phrase “fearfully superficial” to describe personal preferences last week…and that was wrong. It was a slam on honesty.
Maybe I’m being too hard on myself…it seems like it isn’t a week in my life unless I hear a little chastising from one of my friends on the topic. But the reason I don’t always cut myself as much slack as I allow others is because every morning I hope to wake up a little better than I went to sleep and that means learning and growing…slowly, and sometimes with a lesson on repeat.
There’s no way around it, hurt people, hurt people. And for the last week I’ve been the former and done the latter. Misdirected anger is never attractive and never productive.
If I turn the introspective spotlight on, the truth is that I’m a little jealous of him. Jealous that he seems to live with no fear and wonderful reckless abandon. Jealous of the way his life has a natural ease and fluid impulsivity. I’m starting to think more than I want him, I want to live with his sense of freedom…honestly I straight up covet it (note to self: say 10 hail marys and 3 our fathers). So here is my dear diary moment where I obsess one more time and fret over one more boy as I say: “I wish I hadn’t been mean. I wish I hadn’t been judgmental.” Oh how I wish…
