Ayup, it’s been a year of people “helping” me to be a better me. Which is nice, innit? Some kind of hilarious stars-out-of-alignment, anti-self-improvement, drone-filled ‘one of us’ years with the untested assumption on the part of those around me, ‘don’t you want to be more like me?’
Having hit forty, gentle reader, there’s a good chance I won’t aim to be less honest for the rest of my years. I mean, I’m kinda settled into it now. As I tried to explain to the kindly gentleman dedicated to my correction: it’s past time that I bent myself to the world, & time to bend the world to my self. I can shape it by choosing – to some extent – who & what to let in. And if the job doesn’t suit me, it’s far more likely the job will change than I will. There are, after all, plenty of jobs. Most of ’em, you can even just show up, do the freaking job, & leave. And anyone who wants to lend you their sound counsel about how you can climb their moralistic ladder, well, they don’t have to be included.
And of course, two hours after said counsel, someone else entirely laughed at a piece of my undisciplined ‘honesty’, and told me, “I love your honesty, Deb.”
In those words. Which is just the universe’s way of righting every wrong. Or giving you enough balance to hang yourself.
“Your problem is, you’re too honest, it really is.”
Well. It really depends how you define success, now, doesn’t it?