First things first…I’m not a painter. Just to get that out in the open.
I’m not really trying to become Picasso, but I am trying to become a better version of me.
I can’t tell you how many years I spent trying to stuff a round peg into a square hole.
Let’s recap my list of professional endeavors, shall we?
ice cream scooping, waitressing, pre-med, pre-vet, neuroscience, english, biomedical research, veterinary technician, social worker, copy writing, personal training, web design, photography, writing, writing, writing, and now finally, back to social work.
All those years I spent trying to be a general, thinking I was a soldier. All those years trying to become Pope, when I wasn’t even a monk.
I distinctly remember a conversation I had when I graduated from college. I was adamant, adamant, that I would NOT become a social worker. Not because social work wasn’t a nobel profession, but because I had much bigger dreams for myself. Higher expectations. I wanted to live in a big ‘ole city. I wanted to be famous. I wanted to rule the world. I wanted to be a general. I wanted to be the Pope.
Somehow I wasn’t satisfied with being me.
I was too sensitive, too idealistic, too much of a crusader, too much of a do-gooder, too much of everything that didn’t equal my definition of “success.”
What I realize now, with the benefit of hindsight, is that I would have “done life” so much better if only I had become okay with being me sooner.
Today, I’m searching for ways I can honor my authentic self. Trying to distinguish which parts of the past were real and which were me trying to talk myself into being something other than me. It’s untangling a ball of yarn named authenticity.
Picasso would never have been Picasso if he hadn’t been okay with being Picasso.
Same goes for you and me.
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