I Can’t Pretend I Have It All Together & Don’t Understand How Other People Can

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I wonder what it’s like to just know what you’re doing. Or at least to always feel like you do.

To just show up and fit into things and take it for granted that you will fit and that you’ll know what to do when you get there and not make a fool of yourself.

I wonder what it’s like to get into a conflict with another person and never — not once — doubt yourself. To never even consider that you might be a little or a lot wrong.

I wonder what it’s like to be sure that your values are so right that other people must share them. Or that they would if only they weren’t driven astray by something else.

I wonder what it’s like to assume it’s your mission to save other people.

Because I don’t know what that’s like.

Instead, I know a lot of self-doubt, a lot of self-reflection. I can look back on my personal history and see countless times that I questioned my actions. Changed my mind. And not just on small things but on the big things, too. (A glaringly notable example is the fact that I thought I was strictly monogamous and could never do any other relationship structure. Surprise, I’m ambiamorous.)

And it seems like the more I learn, the less confident I am that I know anything for sure.

Doubt has been like this awful hanger-on that’s been following me around for as long as I can remember. Now, don’t get me wrong — my life is very manageable. Very doable. It’s just… alien to me that there are people who don’t think that way. Because to me it’s so pervasive.

I can’t look past the things I don’t know — the things I can’t possibly know for sure. I can’t pretend I have it all together. At least not with myself, when I’m alone.

And I don’t understand how other people can.

I don’t know if they don’t know they don’t. Or if they just aren’t admitting it to themselves and/or others.

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Featured Image: CC 0 – Pixabay