So last Saturday (or really, early Sunday morning) I managed to trip on concrete and scrape the hell out of my face.
I know, I’m a bloody sexy beast.
It’s already starting to heal up nicely, as evidenced by this photo from yesterday:
Again, I am such a sexy beast. Whoooo hooo.
There’s no good story with it. I tripped. While drunk texting. No ice. No real reason for it. It’s a bloody cliche wrapped in a cliche and then marinated in a nice cliche sauce.
But there’s a reason cliches are … well, cliches. They’re common experiences. Drunk words are sober thoughts, after all.
I’m not nearly as well as I sometimes let on, now. I’m working on it, mind you, but in many ways I’m still fighting the same demons of self-doubt and hopelessness that I was a month ago.
The difference is, in this case, that I have a glimmer of hope.
It’s probably delusional… at least to some degree. But it’s there.
Maybe it’s too much Doctor Who, or Captain America, or any of the cultural myths we tell ourselves. When I have hope, I have motivation. I can do things.
And that’s something precious.
I don’t know what you hope in. Maybe it’s a person. Maybe it’s a situation. Maybe it’s some kind of final reward.
It doesn’t matter.
My hope? It’s probably delusional. There’s a lot of evidence that says that it is – and a tiny amount that says that it isn’t. But I’m choosing to focus on the part that says that I am not being delusional – that the hope exists.
Because that gives me the motivation that I need in order to get better, and doesn’t actively harm anyone else.
I don’t think that’s a bad thing.
Because my motivation is being used to make me a better person. Maybe it won’t lead to the goal I hope for. But even if I am delusional about my hope, that motivation will make me better able to deal with that, as well.
We all lie to ourselves. A lot. It’s usually unconscious – some kind of subliminal justification of what we want instead of what we need.
And in this case, it’s a conscious decision. It’s a deliberate choice.
And at the end of the day, when I’ve done the hard things demanded and motivated by this (possible) act of lying to myself, I won’t need to anymore.
Which makes it good for me.
What do you think? Do you ever lie to yourself – and know that you’re doing it for a specific purpose?