My idea of beautiful is wild. I don’t understand why people waste so much time fighting nature. Standing in front of mirrors, wielding hot tools in order to hide what hair looks like. Using skin-colored liquids to cover up what skin looks like. Drawing eyebrows over our eyebrows to hide what eyebrows look like.
“You must become that which you are.”
All of these standards that are so counter-intuitive. I like to tell myself I’ve outfoxed them, and yet I know that’s a lie. They keep me up at night, just like anyone else. All of us, already perfectly whole, wondering what we need to change. In order to what? To attain some ideal that someone we don’t even know made up one time.
I consider the time and money we put into sprinkler systems, landscaped yards, oddly-organized flower beds. And then compare it to the natural landscape we dug up to replace and I think, “What was so wrong with that in the first place?” I drive past boxy, cost-effective buildings, stare at discolored, insincere foods and get legitimately depressed. How did we get here? Where are we meant to be? Are we getting closer? What is progress? Did anyone even know the destination to begin with?
There is just too much. To be known, to be seen, to be done. And I am not enough.