Uncategorize Me

In stories there are clear lines drawn to define characters and circumstances;
illustrate and demonstrate
what they are, and what they are not.
The audience often has a good sense of what’s what.

Real life, however, is nuanced and enigmatic;
lines are blurred and confusing,
circumstances are ambiguous and inconclusive,
people are ever-changing.

Maybe that’s why we’re all so anxious.
Maybe that’s why we’re all desperately clinging to our birth charts and obsessing over our Enneagram number (Type 8, INFJ, Aries here!).
We need something to explain it all—
something to tell us what’s what.

But it’s really not that simple, is it?

The world, not individuals, but society as a whole — who or whatever that is — breeds doubt. Self-doubt.

I know who and what I am on my own;
only when I share with the world do I begin to question myself.
Enduring comments, unsolicited, by those who know nothing of my experience.

I know who I am even if I can’t explain it.
Even if you don’t see it, or believe it, or understand it.

Let’s stop trying to label everything,
just let it be whatever it is.
Let’s stop confining ourselves to these boxes.
You don’t need an excuse to feel what you’re feeling—
for fuck’s sake, let yourself be
whatever it is you are at any given moment
regardless of your assigned personality traits.

You are the culmination of every experience you’ve ever had;
every word that’s ever been said to you up to this point,
modified only by the thoughts in your head that you’ve decided to give value to.

How could that possibly be categorized?

Stand tall in the sea of short-sighted folk.
Be brave in the face of a cowardly mass.
Be you. Always be you.
Anything and everything that is.