I Don't Want To Make Sense
#1902
I did a self-reflection exercise yesterday, and I realized I probably have an addiction. I'm addicted to being liked by people. Even by people I'd never switch places with. Ironic, right?
What's even more ironic is that I'm worried about being ignored by people who don't know me. It doesn't make sense, right?
That's what I thought when I wrote that sentence in my journal this morning. Yet, I see people constantly doing things that don't make sense. I guess it's a part of being human. But I love to tell myself that I am good at doing and writing reasonable and sound stuff. Stuff that makes sense.
So, whenever I write something, I ask myself, "Will this make sense?"
Beneath that question, though, what I'm truly wondering is, "Will I be misunderstood, ignored, or dismissed?"
So, more often than I'd like, I end up overpolishing, dimming the words, smoothing away the edges. And for what? For the fear of being ignored by people who don't know me and with whom I'd probably never switch places. When did being relevant become so important?
Is it just me? I don't think so.
I wonder how much beautiful and raw humanness gets lost before it has even a chance to shine.
Does this ramble make sense?
I don't know.
Today, I don't care.
I don't want to make sense.
I want to have fun.
I want to make possibilities.
I hope today you'll do, write, or share that thing you want to, even if you're not sure whether it makes sense or is relevant.