January. The quiet month. Empty.
2017; a hopeful new year. Buildable. Start as you mean to go on.
Who cares what you eat and what you drink and what you smoke and how you move. What about who you see? We no longer get everything we need from one person in the form of a romantic partner and to expect that is lunacy. Our biological family may be hideous, may be heaven, but they are the ones we are vaguely stuck with. Our chosen family are the creatures who reflect the world – our choices, our state of mind – back at us. So who are we after? Human beings.
Now, human beings are frail. Perfection is for monsters and for things. Not for real people. Turn off Instagram for a moment and cast aside the curated lies. Spurn Facebook with the bizarre over-sharing moments broadcast to a cast of characters we would dive under cars to avoid should we be so unfortunate as to see them in the street. Turn your mind instead to the people who will fill your year and focus on the humans; the ones who embrace their own midiocy. As long as they are trying to feel better. The ones who like life dark can just turn around and walk away.
Not for us the ‘I’m so complicated’ which is just self-aggrandising. Rather – for us – the folks who seek simplicity but somehow end up in the mire. The ‘want to have it alls but might be falling aparts’. The ‘sorry I was mean but I felt so scareds’. The ones who laugh with a kind of charming desperation and who love in the same way. The ones who can’t eat only half a Mars Bar. Human beings. Animals with words. The ones who remind us that we are part of a species; who switch on our empathy, brighten our smiles and – when the time comes, as it surely will – willingly swim towards us through our tears, fears and failures. Keep your perfection. Serve me up a wholehearted semi-wreck any day of the year.