I'm honestly starting to wonder when I'll believe it. I never wanted to believe I was special. I took all the negative connotations wrapped within that, because of course I can't give myself an inch. Especially in this day and age, when people are clamoring to have a singular voice. Here I am, writing in a public blog... that can be taken all the ways one wants to take it.
Most days I enjoy standing in this skin. Most days I'm happy with who and what is in my life, and how I navigate it. Then there are the other days, I wish I was far more boring. I'd married so and so, taken that job, all of the "normal" routes that supposedly lead to happiness. Or at least what I fathom happiness is. But that very well might not be in the cards for me. Because of me doing things my way. Funnily enough, I don't even do these things on purpose, not always premeditated. I just... do them.
It's that fucking drumbeat I dance to, the rose colored glasses I wear. My belief in people, in dreams. I might very possibly be the most naive woman standing on the surface of this planet. Makes me wonder if some of the things I dream about will ever come to fruition.
I also want to believe if and when I find a person to be on the journey with me, they will understand I'm the hardest on myself. I am afraid of myself. I'm only just realizing how much I get in my own way. There are all kinds of special. This is one of them.
I'm wondering if I'll ever lean into my difference. If someone will fully appreciate it. And if I'll be comfortable more often than not in me.
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