For most of my life I have spent countless hours loving the wrong type of man. It isn’t because I am unlovable. It isn’t because I am slutty. It isn’t even because I have a particular type of man other than just wrong.
It is because for most of my life I was under the incorrect and hidden assumption that somehow I was worth less than I am. On the walls of my heart I had written that I wasn’t good enough to be loved. Ironically it was that notion that made it impossible to be loved. I say that notion was deeply hidden but it was only deeply hidden from me. I had it all over me, the letters pointy and jagged, cloaking me in barbed wire.
In every persons mind is a closet in which lives our boogie men. The things that go through our mind and handicap us. There is nothing wrong with realizing our limits. But there is something wrong with limiting oneself.
Reality is that I will never be a runway model. I will never be a mathematician. I will never be a surgeon. I will never be in a triathlon. I will not be the next American Idol. I will never live on a boat. I will never be good at anything that requires coordination. I am not good at traveling. I am not good at board games.
But there are a thousand things I am good at.
Though I am far from old it makes me sad that I wasted so much of my youth. That I spent so much time worrying about what the wrong people thought about the wrong things.
I gave my heart stupidly to stupid people. Not just stupid men but stupid friends and stupid causes and stupid ideals.
Now that I am a little older, and a little wiser and have a little more perspective I realize what is worth the effort. To usually know when to quit trying and most importantly when to not even try.