I like real people. You know the type. People who aren’t afraid to say that their lives are often a mess. I can relate to these people, I’m one of them. I know what it’s like to succeed and to fail. I’ve been in the in-group and just as quickly in the out feeling like a misfit, one of the weird. I used to worry about impressing others and living up to some unseen expectations. But if I can speak frankly for a moment, I like freedom more than the precarious sense of belonging where rules can change tomorrow. I may talk too much at times, or be too quiet in the next, and on occasion get carried away on a subject that I’m wildly passionate about.
There is a certain beauty in the ugliness and mess of life. It comes with its own hard lessons on what’s important and what’s not. I think this is what the world is begging for, real people, loving passionately, and living their simple real lives.