The Man in the mirror (in the agony of becoming)

As I splash water on my face and look in the mirror, I realize I have never been the man anyone wanted me to be.

Not exactly, and not entirely.

As far as expectations go, any expectations people had of me, or that I had for myself, always felt like boxes. Boxes that don’t exactly fit. Like made for someone else. I almost feel pulled by the idea of no expectations…no plans. instead of aiming, flowing. Letting go.

A big part of me hesitates, gets scared even. Surrendering like this feels like jumping into darkness, as I have no idea how that looks like and what will happen. How can I let something unknown to me, dictate how I live? I dare not step away from the edge…I won’t go back to living like that.

But I find myself hesitating….perpetuating a state of anxiety….of indecisión…of not being. In the agony of becoming.

In this state of becoming, my vices pull against my virtues. My vices are loud with the illusion of certainty. My virtues plagued by self-doubt, pull back uneasily, not sure where to go…stumbling even…but certain that the vice’s lure is a fake and dangerous one.

I am begun, but not yet finished.

The face in the mirror seems lost. The man in the mirror is vulnerable.

His insides sense danger in weakness. He washes his face and pretends to shrug it off.