Flawed

Yes, I am weak. I cling to my worries and forget my hopes. I cry over the spilled milk. I regret every small mistake. I grieve every moment lost. I realize now how much I need to change in my life. It sort of feels like Obama having to fix America. But I'm not going to be as demanding. I know I cannot fix everything immediately, but I am going to move forward and work on becoming a better person.

I will accept my flaws, not antagonize over them. I will push myself a few millimeters outside my comfort zone. Then I will go a few inches. Then I can step a few yards. And after the baby steps, hops, and long hurdles, I will be more me. Not necessarily a better me. People are not linear, unlike what Nihilists believe. People have so many twists and turns and fourth dimensional vectors. In all of this we have something so great, a soul.

I realize today that while there are many things I want to "fix," I am not a machine. There is no step by step instruction to fix what I find unhappy. I know a few routes.
I can cry about it most of the time and complain until a friend or therapist makes me feel better.
I can challenge myself a lot, fall apart, then cry and whine.
I can challenge myself a little and be strong enough to get through it.
I can accept my flaws and appreciate them.
I can make my flaws a positive.
I can run away from my flaws by avoiding situations which involve them.
I can be human and deal with flaws without making them giant unobtainable goals.

I look at the title of my book. Twenty-One Balloons to Eco-Harmony. Whatever that means. It supposed to be some sort of seven steps toward nirvana idea. Whatever eco-harmony is, I believe that it is being okay with who I am, always expanding my horizons, and being humble.
But the steps are balloons, not ladder rungs, or mountain pathways. How do you achieve a balloon? Maybe you can't. Or maybe a balloon can always expand. Sometimes balloons become too big and pop. Sometimes balloons don't have enough helium to stand upright. Balloons are the flaws, traits, and challenges. I have a giant balloon that pops all the time, called my ego, and my sensitivity, and my stress. I have a balloon that barely exists called self-esteem.
Despite this whole connection to balloons, whose to say what fills them or what makes a balloon a good one or the colors or the number of balloons? Balloons are lofty ideals, and we all seek the perfect bushel of balloons. But we might as well accept the balloons tied to our wrists for what they are, try to fix the ones that are broken, and prevent the giant balloons from lifting us too far off our feet.

"Imperfect is the New Perfect" - Caitlin Crosby