Justified

I may not always be the best of who I am.

Correction. I CANNOT always be the best of who I am. Because to be always the best is to miss half of life. Because life is like a running wheel, sometimes you’re at the top, sometimes you’re at the bottom. And where you’ll be at, at the braking, that we don’t know. So why not pray for experiencing both? At least, when you die, you won’t have to blame yourself for missing the other face of fun.

Because perfection is boring. Deviance is wonderful, becoming more precious as it grows old with forgotten time, and even more precious once retold as a story of the old.

I‘ve made myself hundreds of stories. Retelling them seems a lousy ride around a neighborhood with all houses uniform in their overall architecture. I tell you it ain’t fun.

Winning. Applauses. Praises. All the same. ‘A hundred stories with one common plot’ is deadly. It’s a breed of boredom that can bore you to death. And a long series of winning and just winning…is a story without a story. Seriously.

But I don’t recommend losing. Don’t exaggerate.

To accept loss is not my way of justifying my life. I don’t need a pathetic alibi. To accept loss is to go through the process of losing, and I need not justify. It’s part of life, as simple as that.

But to fabricate the truth and pacify a little the madness, let’s say that to accept loss is as simple as looking at life from the bottom of the wheel. It’s prolonging a peek for a better view of what’s left above to be reached. Oh, did I sound defensive?

Well, to make more metaphors on losing is a bloodless crime, yet still deadly as boredom.

So it stops here. Because life is to be lived, not to be justified.

photo: Resolution-db