I used to be afraid of being viewed as too philosophical. Or too extreme. Or too unconventional. Or too emotional. Or too whatever.

As if “too” was an objective stamp of shame, instead of the infinitely subjective and personal concept it is. What more does it mean than imbalance? And isn’t life made possible by the existence of both balance and the lack of it?

I’ve also struggled with the idea that if I tried something different, I’d be an imposter, an actor, a phony.

No. No. No.

Whenever I pivot, whenever I shift into becoming someone different, better, stronger, I do claim being that person–even if I’m not there yet. I conceptualize, mentally and psychologically embody, and feel as fully as I could what it means to become something more than what I am now–all before becoming that.

I would be a phony to pretend otherwise. I would be an imposter in the arena of Life itself if I submit to anything else. Submit to becoming stagnant, to remain all that I am in the moment without striving to become and understand and do more.

That lack of change is the kiss of death; it is the beginning of the death of a soul, a mind, a body.

I’d rather be somewhere, do something, say something that would put my body in danger of destruction, than stay somewhere as someone whose soul is slowly dying–or long dead.

So long as that “something” is truth placed in the service of love. So long as there is something I am good at, that I can be better at, that I can know I am good at. Even if it goes unrecognized or punished.

So long as I’m alive, I shall live as if I am.

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