Okay is not a good word in our society; in fact it is generally a bad one.
Okay is the last acceptable answer before someone asks how they can help.
Okay is the last acceptable answer before someone asks how they can help.
Okay means not good, not good means bad, bad means not good, so on and so forth, and Heaven forbid something not be good.
I am the actual queen of not being okay with just okay. I've come to terms with the impossibility of perfection, but good isn't perfect. Good is just better than bad--better than okay. Good is the in-between. Good is the healthy medium where I have found peace in not being able to please the masses. Good is my comfort zone. Good is good for me.
Bad is not. Bad is uncomfortable, it's judge-able, it's frowned upon. Bad is ugly and ugly is bad and bad is not good--it's a sick cycle.
But sometimes it's okay--even good--to just be okay, or even to be not okay. Not okay usually hurts. Not okay usually involves some rejection and some ugly thoughts and ugly conversations and, on occasion, some ugly crying. We aren't perfect, we aren't expected to be perfect; we are just so incredibly human, and nowhere in any definition of that word will you find correspondence with perfection. It's okay to ugly cry yourself to sleep, it's okay to let things hit you a little harder than they should, it's okay to be a little dramatic, it's okay to rant, it's okay to scream and yell and hit things. Because on days where internally I feel nothing but ugly and not okay and consequently angry, I stumble across old messages and notes from the first person in my life who taught me that being okay {and not okay} are in fact, in the truest sense of the word, okay.
I miss her and I wish that I could say that she would fill every one of my many holes.
But the fact of the matter is that I'm a mess. In the deepest parts of me I am a mess and will always be a mess and know how to be nothing other than that, and that's okay with me and it is okay with God and it was okay with her.
She knew it. She understood it. We were matching messes.
I am the actual queen of not being okay with just okay. I've come to terms with the impossibility of perfection, but good isn't perfect. Good is just better than bad--better than okay. Good is the in-between. Good is the healthy medium where I have found peace in not being able to please the masses. Good is my comfort zone. Good is good for me.
Bad is not. Bad is uncomfortable, it's judge-able, it's frowned upon. Bad is ugly and ugly is bad and bad is not good--it's a sick cycle.
But sometimes it's okay--even good--to just be okay, or even to be not okay. Not okay usually hurts. Not okay usually involves some rejection and some ugly thoughts and ugly conversations and, on occasion, some ugly crying. We aren't perfect, we aren't expected to be perfect; we are just so incredibly human, and nowhere in any definition of that word will you find correspondence with perfection. It's okay to ugly cry yourself to sleep, it's okay to let things hit you a little harder than they should, it's okay to be a little dramatic, it's okay to rant, it's okay to scream and yell and hit things. Because on days where internally I feel nothing but ugly and not okay and consequently angry, I stumble across old messages and notes from the first person in my life who taught me that being okay {and not okay} are in fact, in the truest sense of the word, okay.
I miss her and I wish that I could say that she would fill every one of my many holes.
"you know I love you more than yesterday and somehow less than tomorrow"
But the fact of the matter is that I'm a mess. In the deepest parts of me I am a mess and will always be a mess and know how to be nothing other than that, and that's okay with me and it is okay with God and it was okay with her.
"keep your head up princess...or the crown falls"
She knew it. She understood it. We were matching messes.
"I love God...I love him in my darkness. More so in my light. But when it's dark...when I can barely breathe...sometimes I will just sit in my driveway and light up a cigarette and stare into the night sky and spill my soul. Because for once I'm not afraid of not being loved back."
Because for once I don't have to be afraid of rejection.
Because for once I don't have to be afraid of okay.
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