Life is an inspirational clusterfuck. Sometimes the things, the situations, the people, that inspire us most are the most fucked up. Perfection has no place in moving us through life. Perceived perfection is pretty, comfortable, and safe, but it doesn’t inspire.
Perfection only exists in the minds of the deluded. It’s all really a clusterfuck. If you recognize this, it gives you perspective, but no advantage. You’re going to walk right into it. You can do nothing else.
After spending some time in the bubble of perceived perfection, where we must all go sometimes to maintain our sanity, the absolute enormity of the clusterfuck can be overwhelming. It can take your voice, your heart, your whole self. It can be like adjusting to altitude. It incapacitates until you adjust, you just can’t get your feet under yourself.
Sometimes you find your bearings in time, sometimes you don’t. If you don’t find your feet in time, you can only hope the nature of this clusterfuck will bring you back around. If all isn’t still, there’s hope.