I’ve decided that I write too much about negative past experiences and use them to excuse/explain my fears about the present. It started off as the need to explain myself. To answer the inevitable thing that gets asked of me every time I open up a little – that’s hard enough on my ego, and it’s only my relentless drive to communicate something true to people that makes me do so at all. And maybe it was the image I wanted to present for a while. I wasn’t the person I’d imagined being, but maybe I could be the person who picked up and started over. There’s a kind of respect that goes along with that; people call it “brave” even (especially) when I radiate fear. Maybe it made me a little easier to relate to; gave me a common ground with some classmates who’d overcome various obstacles. It let me be honest when I came in and said, look, I have no freaking clue what I’m doing here but I really, really want to learn. This person, this persona – of the girl whose dreams broke her – has stopped serving me.  I don’t think it ever really did.

It’s true that I did and do have some things lingering around that were never addressed, because they couldn’t be then. And it’s true that I’m probably going to work through a lot of them here, because words are my thing. Writing is how I process, and the idea of readers keep me more or less honest, though I’m going to be selfish right now and say I’m not always blogging for you. Yes, I wanted to relate; I wanted to fill a gap that was missing for me – because I went searching months ago for someone like me and found that no one was writing exactly these experiences. It seemed a good enough reason.

But I also think I’m done apologizing for not doing things perfectly, and I think I’m done letting fear of failing (again) be an excuse. Excuses are boring. I’ve let myself think I’m unique because it’s kept me going, operating under the assumption that if I couldn’t stand out because of my talent, maybe I’d stand out because I’d overcome some obstacles. But my obstacles were never that unique, and most of what held me back was me. I let history become a reason to doubt my present reality.

I’m done with that. No one cares why I am where I am beyond an initial moment of curiosity. People care what I can do now, and all I can do is work on improving that. I have a lot more confidence than I let on, and maybe a lot less fear than I started with.

Fear never actually keeps you from falling, anyway. I refuse to let a few negative experiences define me. I refuse to let anything define me; I don’t know why I’ve been trying, myself.
ETA: I used the word “maybe” too many times in the first version of this post – I think I’m done with that, too.

Enough of That


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