This may be a direct from Fifty Shades of Grey knockoff, but an Ipod with music fully loaded on it is by far the best gift ever.
Granted, the mix tape came way before the ipod, but forgive me if it’s the first cultural reference that comes to mind.
Its funny, this music used to mean something to me. I mean, it still means things to me, but it doesn’t quite feel the same way it used to. The lyrics don’t crawl over my skin, they don’t pierce my heart, they just float overheard and I watch them pass by.
I used to believe that I needed a man to complete something, Maybe it was years of romantic comedy brainwashing, maybe it was a desire to complete my memory of an incomplete childhood with an incomplete family.
But I just don’t believe that anymore. I’m not a kid anymore. It feels like not believing in Santa Clause.
And let this please be very distinct from finding out Santa Claus is not real….That already happened. Sad to say, it went by undocumented, because I do not recall the specific moment I stopped believing a man would complete something. I just know that I do not believe this anymore.
I do however, believe that a man adds something. But to suggest complete, would suggest I am incomplete. And that is not true.
I am not there yet. And I do not yet wish to be added to. One day I will. But not today and not tomorrow and just…not yet.
I do still believe in a Great Big Love. And I also like to believe in a Love That Lasts. But the second one must stand the test of Time and while its nice to believe in it there is no way to test this theory for sure. Only Time can test it. Pity.
But the Great Big Love I mentioned…yes, I do still believe that is real. I’m losing faith in the idea that this may be a man…I certainly hope it is, but I am young and that is what this young girl knows what to hope for. I can feel it in my gut sometimes, its knotted and twisted and growing in there…and I know I am not ready for it yet. But by God, it sure as fuck is scary to know its coming.
Christmas inevitably gets you thinking about New Years, and with that comes the even more inevitable Resolutions. I was making this list in my journal about the person who I want to grow to become and later has this epiphany that the list was entirely composed of my “perfect” version of myself. Except that this kind of perfection demands a rigidity that breaks me and ultimately this is why I always fail myself, because I cannot live within rigid lines. I am a flexible girl.
I need flexible rules. I need places and spaces to make up the missed time and turn in some extra credit.
The person I want to grow into is a person who lives in the light. I want to emit the light. I want to live from a place of joy and I need to construct a life that centers around this feeling of joy and not a life that centers around a concept of perfection that leaves me unhappy and worse, empty, when I do manage to briefly attain it.
My set point is perfection. Its where I run to when I want to “fix” my unhappiness. But its wrong. I need to run towards happiness. I need to indulge in the things that truly make me happy. The things that set me free.
Instead of forcing myself to live within suffocating rules, I would like to construct a life that lets me dance. A lot. That lets me have fun. A lot. I want this life. I cant think of anything I want more for 2015. Another year of the perpetual dance party.
No giving in to the sound of perfection calling. She conference calls with anxiety. They run in a pack, those two.