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Ping Pong

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all the things. the yin the yang, the push the pull, waves on the beach, killing me softly.  i’ve got all the duality you can muster, in me.  i am frequently (still) swamped by grief for the family and marriage that i do not have.  I am occasionally (now) roaring my strength and contentment to the hills.

i have self-esteem issues. Sometimes i feel insecure about my words, my offerings, because i don’t know who the hell i am to say such things!  what right do i have to offer advice when my life is so screwy? when i haven’t ‘proven’ myself a success? and then i wonder if the only people allowed to give advice are considered successes? really? are their challenges all resolved? are they only the oldest of the old?  *have you noticed that the gurus on the mountaintops, hermit-style, are all men? is that because women have so much less interest in living uncomfortably? or in such isolation? or because they don’t want anyone else to have to do the work of feeding them? hm.

I have self-esteem issues.* Fuck you if you don’t think I’m the goddamned rockstar.  Fuck you if you don’t think I’m the wisest thing out there. I withhold myself because I don’t want to be spread too thin, because my wealth is in my coherence, my solidity. and so few people deserve it.

*this part of self-esteem issue feels unbearably awful to me. but it is sometimes what i’ve got. so there.

I’m a rebel. and a people pleaser. and if you spend your whole decade plus trying to please someone who is not pleased, you might find your rebel rising. and then that rise turns into refusal.  i don’t want to spend my life as bartleby scrivner, guv.  *his catchphrase, ‘I prefer not to’. ad nauseum.

It is a mixed bag, this delving into self-identification. we, well, I know that words are just shells for meaning, and inadequate ones at that.

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