Sessions. Lessons. Impressions.

Chapter 1: (Who am I?)

Most of my life I have felt misunderstood. Unseen. Overlooked.

Lonely.

On the outside looking in, I can understand how this would be hard to believe. I was never the last picked for a team in gym class, nor was I the first to be made fun of.

I’ve always been known of… just never really known.

There is a part of me that is okay with this. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, nor are they mine.

There is a comfort that I now find in the solitude of knowing that at the end of the day, I don’t need every person in my life to know me down to my core like I used to think I needed.

Yet, there are always those few.

Those few people that you just wish knew you and the subsequent loneliness that ensues as a result of the realization that they either likely never will or maybe never will again.

Despite that, I’m not writing this for them. I’m writing this for me… and others like me.

I’m writing this because I find it hard to believe I am the only person feeling unseen.

Perhaps, my words will attract some like-minded people.

OR

Perhaps, my words will be met with the skeptics in the world claiming their disbelief of the authenticity poured into these pages.

I can hear the whispers now. (Cue the massive wave of caution that echoes through my bones).

Nevertheless, here I am… taking the leap.

In order for me to be known, I have to be exposed for who I am. My guess is, if you’ve made it this far without returning this book to the shelf, you feel similarly. OR at least you're curious enough to read on.

I am certain several different versions of me exist in this world based on the narrative others have written within their own heads. At this point in my life, I am mostly unbothered by this. Everyone is biased. That is the human condition. I cannot fault that. I simply have to just remind myself of that fact from time to time.

The older I become, the less space there is between the person I see myself as and the person I am. I am learning how to bridge that gap and unmask the parts of myself that have remained obscure or influenced for far too long.

As I evolve as a person, my descriptions of myself are continuously changing. Connections are being made within, veils are being lifted and small modifications are being made here and there.

Life has taught me we often find out a lot about ourselves by looking into the past, into our childhood. Perhaps it is revealing, in that of itself, that there is a lot about my past that I simply don’t remember. That was a time for me when I existed mostly with my head in the clouds. A pre-consciousness if you will.

Yet, I do picture that little girl from time to time.

Lying on the floor wearing her fake string of pearls while challenging all the boys to an arm wrestling competition at the fourth-grade dance OR playing in the dirt while wearing grandma's 10 lb shimmering costume earrings.

I used to think of this little girl and the words spirited, vibrant, and free would come to mind.

Spirit has turned, similarly, into passion. There is no doubt about it, this one has stuck.

Vibrant…I can’t tell if that has changed, or perhaps was never really me at all. My light still shines, but a spectrum of light now exists at the risk of once again becoming dimmed by life’s interference.

But…FREE?

I am inescapably consumed by the thought of being free. I think because that is not what I am but rather what I have wanted to be all my life.

Free is the thought of being unbound by trivial pursuits of daily life. I’m just gonna do me and HEY fuck off if you think you have a say about what that is.

The confidence of it enchants me. I am infatuated with the simplicity and, to me, the beauty of it.

Yet, the act of defining myself as free contradicts the true nature of what that means. To be truly free is to not define oneself by anything. It exists in a category entirely on its own. To be free is to live simply for the purpose of defying other descriptions. It is the apex of opposition and acceptance of all that ensues as a result.

If this was a magic potion, I would drown myself in it.

I am not free.

I think that maybe instead, I am wild.

You see, even free has its place… to not exist. But to be wild means I belong everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

My heart is as primitive as it is uninhabited. I feel it has no one true place in this world. I am a misfit among misfits. I am made of fire and ice. Unprecedented by the unraveling of the battle between reason and passion that exists within me.

I am a walking contradiction. The embers of my soul are as hot as they are cold. The polarity of my existence exhausts me.

If you look deep into my tired eyes, you can easily see the discrepancies within.

I am an open book but not an easy read. I have yet to find the balance that helps one flow easily from one page to another.

My chapters are either too short or long-winded at best. I have a tendency to repeat myself often, lose my place, perseverate on thoughts, and forget many key details along the way.

I either present my intentions well, confuse myself along the way or can’t muster the energy to present them at all.

I am at constant war within, assuming the role of both the victim and the villain. Most days I am one or the other. Though if you dare believe it, some days I am both.

I am confident. In the same breath, I am indecisive, hesitant, skeptical, and untrusting of myself.

I am neither arrogant nor conceited, as I have worked hard to humble myself in life. Yet, I know my worth.

My soul is as genuine as it is exposed, which would become obvious to those who truly listen.

I love love and regardless of my attempts to partially conceal it for the consequence of its vulnerability, I can’t quite ever seem to escape its inevitable spell. So maybe, now that I think about it, I hate it a little bit too.

Some are known to love widely while others are meant to love deeply. My body submits its defenses to both. Burning a candle at both ends now has a new meaning.

I am as resilient as I am fragile. Delicate like a flower, strong like a weed. Both the chameleon and the contrarian, an imposter no matter which way you flip the coin. Once again, never really fitting the full mold.

I can find comfort in the chaos but also find boredom in comfort.

I feel both lost and found simultaneously. Pulled in opposite directions by the overwhelming power of contrasting elements persistently fighting as if to ultimately suppress the other. I remain idle as if my mere existence is a paradox meant solely to shine a light to the contradictions that lay claim to my name.

Am I more bitter than sweet? Or should I instead be asking, how am I both? I know that I am both.

You can always find me in the gray. Destined to be an explorer. Thirsting for experience and simultaneously sinking under the weight it yields.

This book leaves me vulnerable. Unprotected. Exposed.

The power and influence of the words printed on these pages serve as an indefinite window into my soul.

Regardless, I love who I am here. The me that’s poured into these pages. Words plucked out of existence for the sole purpose of deliberately supplying my soul, rather than occupying it.

I feel liberated by these words.

At the same time, I feel anchored to the permanence they now possess. Fear has convinced me that if my actions ever contradict my words, my words will become meaningless. So here I am illuminating my contradictions, rather than letting fear drive me and pretending they don’t exist.

I’m tired of pretending they don’t exist.

Sometimes I feel that I have a love/hate relationship with myself. Other times, I would describe it as a near miss. It’s the relentless feeling of narrowly escaping any definition for the concern that the consequence of trying to consistently match such a description far exceeds the risk of being who I actually am.

The moment you label something is the moment you begin to confirm it to its rules. But in the wild, rules don’t exist.

There isn’t always a ying to my yang or a lightness to my dark. No consistent binary equation in which balance is achieved. Everything is unpredictably muddled together.

I wish I could say I’m a consistent standard deviation from the mean average but I’m not even sure any of us know what “average” means anymore.

Many are unaware they remain shackled by their own description. I would say I know better now but here I am… describing myself.

An oxymoron with nothing but spell check and a thesaurus to keep me sane.

I am what I am.

Some days I can make life’s lemonade and some days I am the lemon. I’ve accepted this.

You can’t truly know a person as unpredictable as these pages portray. It’s easy to now understand why I’ve always felt the way that I do, unseen and unknown.

To attempt to understand a person like this is nothing short of taking a leap into the wild side yourself.

Maybe we were all born to be a little wild, though. I think at least Steppenwolf would agree.

And just maybe, you're still reading because it takes one to know one and you’re not as tame as you pretend to be.

Your choice awaits… do you put in the work to truly get to know yourself OR do you pretend?

The world itself is one giant perpetual contradiction, my friend. It’s time to risk joining it.

A world where we are all similarly different.

A hopeful cynic.

A jaded lover.

A beautiful mess.

A wilder just the same.

Title: Sessions. Lessons. Impressions.

Education: Masters

Word Count: Not finished yet.

Genre: Personal Development/Memoir