Being Imperfect.

I kind of like being imperfect.

To be imperfect means to: ” be flawed,  someone  blemished or broken.  many  think often there is an embarrassment  or shame to being flawed, but it’s not a bad thing at  all.  It shows you have a little  character. And  it makes you  appreciate the work  you need to do on the  “unrefined you”,   still appreciate it,  and then  you can  refine  yourself, all the more.

It’s less pressure, you know. You don’t have to worry about what it means to anyone to be you.

I like being me , I’m feeling fifty. It took me a minute and I’ll almost be 51 in three months, but it’s all good. So what, it took me nine months to feel it?

I’m here , though.

I haven’t been blogging. I haven’t been very engaged in living. I think I got away from it for a minute because I was stressing and being concerned about life’s pressures. You know those feelings you get when all thing begin to “press in”, and life screams: “I need you!”

And ‘ you’ head for any escape route possible….in full rebellion.

Well, I may have not been in total rebellion, but I was sorta starting to fade… he was too…and then hubs and I did this fun get away… just because.

I kind of ‘ high-jacked ‘him, told him he didn’t have a choice, actually, because he was starting not to be too familiar to me, ya know?

Yeah… you know and then we hit reset. And our bodies  felt the ‘relief’ of  release.

And then… we were back at it, with greater clarity, accomplishment and focus.

Yep. It worked.☺️

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