The Charm of Imperfection

Photo by  Yury Orlov  on  Unsplash

Photo by Yury Orlov on Unsplash

You know these days? When you get up in the morning singing your favourite song, grab your bike and just go for the day as if nothing in this world could stop you. And the other days? When you feel like going to work is a punishment and you are hot and tired and hungry for chocolate and ice cream in unlimited quantities.

The days when you struggle because you think you’d rather do something else and be somewhere else. The days when you can’t help but think about change, progress, growth, dreams.

All the things you do not know. All the dreams you still did not catch. All the hopes you still did not give up on. All the curiosity towards the world and people. All the doubts that you try to squeeze under the bed. All the uncertainty that makes your suitcase weigh 1more. All the good people you constantly meet and all the smiles they share without any expectations.

All the steps that you make every day trying to find a place that you are looking for. The smartphone that insists you should still walk more. All the things you haven’t done yet, waiting for the summer to come. A little bit of disappointment, spiced with the hope for fast improvement and finished with a delicate taste of the freedom of choice.

All the independence that you have and all of the homesickness that you always keep locked deep in the closet. You have so few clothes that there is enough space for anything. All the nights that turn into days that pass too fast and leave you breathless. All the dances that were not supposed to end.

All the glasses of sweet wine and guilty cigarettes that should quiet your mind and sharpen your vision. They do the opposite though. All the miracles that you keep overlooking and all the mistakes you keep repeating. All the passion you leave for later and all the reasonable tasks that pull you further away. All the light we cannot see and all the darkness that surround us when we come back home too late.

I guess sometimes I am like somebody who is being asked if he prefers cheesecake or brownie and he answers that he would like to go for a walk. It’s hard to put me into a box.

Many of us wish it was as simple as Leo Tolstoy once said:

If you want to be happy, be.

Or maybe it is actually that simple?