fake it till you make it

. ramblings of the heart on a hard afternoon .

- - - don't worry. it was days ago. my life is put back together for the next few hours. but I thought I'd share, in belief that someone will relate. & I cut the profanity in hopes not to offend. be encouraged. - - -


Life is not about faking it till you make it. It’s real, and it hurts. My logical mind can never control my emotional heart, and I hate that. I hate the loss of control. But life has nothing to do with how well you control it, it’s how well you experience it.

It sucks to say the hard is good. It doesn’t make the hard any easier. It doesn’t bring any comfort at all, except in hindsight.

I write vaguely. It makes things easier to theologize and generalize, but impacts few. Let’s ungeneralize a little.

I’m in love, and it hurts more than anything I remember feeling. It is the hardest thing to control, and the easiest way to cut into me. I am in one country, he’s in another, and the only way I can reach him is through the moon.

I cry in the middle of the afternoon. Independent, world traveling girls do not cry over distant lovers. But I do. So what does that make me?

Broken. And feeling every poke and prod that life has to offer.

If I fake perfection, will that eventually make me perfect? Or more empty than when I started?

I don’t want to fake my way through life. I want a real story - a blood, sweat and tears kind of story. I want to make people turn the pages so quickly they can’t wait to find out what happens next.

I win their attention with how great I am.
But then I hook them when they discover how screwed up I really am.

Will I choose to write a comedy or a tragedy? I think the transition begins as soon as I start faking it.

Life is real. Love really hurts. And God is the most beautiful thing I can attempt to wrap my mind around.

Every day is a learn-as-you-go shot at creating a remarkable story.