i am bored with people's pre-occupation with being happy and healthy.

perhaps my vocation is responsible, but nevertheless…

we are addicted to fixing ourselves because we've been duped by the billion dollar self-help industry's aggressive habit of making everything a problem that needs to be overcome.

we want to be undisturbed by need, worry, confusion, sorrow, fear, failure.

sometimes i just want to yell, "if you need your life to be that sterile go
ahead and pull the trigger."

because to be in the living game means to be in the feeling game.
and if you're not strong enough to cry, then maybe you should lay down and die.

i must admit i am suspicious of those who believe the objective of living is to feel good all the time.
i don't really care about whether you feel good every day.  i care about whether you can tell yourself the truth everyday - even if that means acknowledging that you love a dude who doesn't love you back, staying too long when you know you need to act.

it's not the stupid behaviors that costs you the most in the end.  it's the extreme measures you take to invest in your denial of those stupid behaviors.  only the truth can set you free.

i am no different than you.  
i want to accept my life as it is, love it for its color, richness and sorrow.  i want to respect the complexity, uneasily solved atrocities, and all the things that won't seem to let me loose or I them.  i want to be  perfectly okay with my humanness, rather than be hospitable to some rude accusation that my very being is wrong.

there is more to life than the pursuit of perfection.  
i believe we are here to feel, deeply -  to have catastrophic run-ins with gut-wrenching situations that instigate personal revolutions.  

don't you want to be yourself without apology.  you can't be a coward your whole life.
you've got to put your big girl panties on and day by day, crisis by crisis allow the hardships to fashion your life into something uniquely tailored and extraordinary.  maybe not free of sorrow or exiled from difficulties, but nevertheless richer and deeper and better than somebody else's hand me down life.

it's the hygienic fantasy of what happiness is suppose to look like, that makes us so unhappy.