I am not a great person.
I never will be.
I will never create something transcendent. I well never make someone gasp with desire when I remove my clothes. I will never reach the heights of success or say just the perfect thing someone needed to hear at the perfect moment. I may never get out from under the thumb of my own problems.
I’m just not that person.
I try my best to help people. I’m boring and predictable, but reliable. I try to see the best in people. I trust easily. I like to create things, but I’m rarely very skilled, I don’t have the focus to become so, and I tend to lose momentum on anything really large. But I like to contribute if I can. I’m very honest and heartfelt. I try to balance being supportive and being honest, and I think I do okay?
I don’t know. A lot of my philosophy revolves around how it’s okay to live an ordinary life, but also grew up with the expectations of being exceptional. It’s hard sometimes to not feel like an eternal disappointment.
I told my therapist once that I view my life as an eternal apology, that my existence is itself enough of a burden on the planet and the people in it that if I could live it perfectly I would only just reach parity. So every day I miss perfection, which is every day, is a day of failed atonement.
Anyway, this is kind of becoming circular.