First of all, excuse the expletive in the title. I’m having one of those days where the fuck ups pile feels a mile higher than its accomplishments counter-part.
A fuck up is often used as a synonym for a learning experience, perceived at first as something uncomfortable or maybe not very nice. While our sub-conscious takes the brunt of this learning, our conscious minds often take time to realise what we’ve learned from an experience, almost like a transition period where the fuck up bellows out and drowns out any success we’ve had, which can wobble the esteem, swim within our insecurities and manifest into depression. Sometimes we can’t put our finger on the fuck up, what we’ve learned exactly. You grasp but you’re just unsure. That’s me right now. This isn’t a call for sympathy: just a mind venting angst.
These musings could be inspired by me turning 37. Mid-life crisis? I don’t know. I guess I’m trying to find that trigger. The trigger when we look into the mirror and our eyes scream out, “You fucked up,” but finding that barricade that prevents us from beating ourselves up into metaphysical pulp.
These ramblings seem to be going nowhere. Thus, I will end on a positive note, because below the angst, I feel the real me wanting to explode. The side I identify with the most. Positivity.
I am grateful for what I have and experienced in life. There are millions to billions far worse off than my very privileged self. I have the best family and friends in the world. I will overcome what I am going through. Whatever it is.
If you’re going through something similar, add a comment below. If not, enjoy the picture.