Can't think of a title for this bollocks I still write

One thing I've come to realise and continue to be taken aback by, is the fact that we're never 'done'. We will never be complete in life's experiences until we are literally dead. That blows my mind. So why do we worry about life being complete? It just can't be. 

We could naively believe at the age of 15 that we'll have life sorted when we're 20, 25, or 30, but the reality is that life will only be sorted when you're happy and content with absolutely every aspect of your life, and who ever is? It's not that we should lower our expectations, but the constant strive for utter perfection can surely only lead to disappointment? Perfection doesn't exist. 

Disappointment with body image, career prospects, relationships, or children, or perhaps the lack of them. Nothing will ever be perfect. Work will present challenges, you may never get rid of that cellulite, or get the six pack you want, and you may never find the perfect relationship, if there is such a thing. 

Why can't we just accept that we can do or be our best, but that our best is good enough? Constant comparisons with other peoples' lives and successes on Instagram, Twitter, or their highlight reel on Facebook are never going to compare to your greasy hair and hoodie combo (especially when you're hungover). You don't know what they've been through either. The thing is, behind each updated selfie hides an individual who has chosen the best angle, best filter and best photo of them and their bae to display to your lowly self. That's another thing, when I'm actually dating/seeing/in a relationship/WHATEVER with someone, I can't say I really take many photos together because I'm usually too busy eating food, going for walks, being a massive geek, watching Netflix, living actual life with the person in question. I can't say that photo shoots are high on the agenda. In fact, in my last relationship I don't think we ever had a picture together, because we were just busy having too much fun. It's ok to do it too though, if that's you, that's you. I just think many couples compare themselves to these wondercouples, but the amount of photos you have together does not represent the bond you share with a person. 

I accept that my own life is not perfect, and that I myself am imperfect,  which is fine, but I'm relatively happy in my own skin. I have some incredible people in my life who make me howl with laughter, and accept me unconditionally. I have good qualifications, lots of talents and interests, a job which I love, and at my age I believe those things are great achievements.

 If you want to travel, do it. If you hate your job, leave it. If you want to run a marathon, start training. If you're scared about something, confront it. Record an album, have a change of career, take a risk, tell someone how you feel, whatever it is, there just isn't a timescale that life should happen within. It might not work out, but that's ok too. Failures can't define you forever. I used to think as a child that I'd have my life sorted by now. But I know that I never truly will, and this freedom to be imperfect is an intrinsically wonderful thing. 

Criticism

As I write, I can't think of a single example of when it is enjoyable or in any way pleasant to be told that you have failed in some way, or fallen short of a set of expectations ascribed to you, even if criticism can be useful, if constructive.

However, this is somewhat interesting, given that, if asked what you are like by someone, I at least would think of all the worst things first. Then I'd think of some nice things to say. I'm perfectly capable of making myself sound good on paper and in person, in fact I do think I'm very much worth talking to!

The things we have a complex about tend to dominate our thoughts, but on the surface, we want everyone to see the good things we speak of. We are ashamed of our weaknesses. It seems that if our lives play out like a film, we only want people to see the trailer. The best bits, the funniest, the stand out moments. If people see anything more, they might notice all the things that could be better. Increasingly, given that social media facilitates exactly this mentality, we're almost bound to it.

We take criticism to heart, don't we? Blanking out all the good bits in favour of obsessing over an offhand comment, perhaps made in jest or by someone who misunderstood. Or maybe you really did get it wrong, in which case, you deserved that didn't you? So the mind ticks away.

Sometimes we can be very assured in one area of our life, and feel utterly helpless in another. Perhaps professionally, everything is going well, but you could get home and feel desperately alone. Or maybe you're really happy in your personal life, but feel some kind of existential crisis when you think your life is going nowhere.

Experiences just provide the paint on the canvas of life. Sometimes we really like what's being created and other times you realise it has become something you never intended or wanted it to be. You can sort of paint over it but there will always be a little stain to remind you of what was there before.

Letting people see the whole canvas is pretty scary. You only ever trust a few. Your sister, a close friend maybe. So why is it that we let so many people we barely know have the paintbrush? We believe the things people say about us, and that's how they paint. People have impressions on you in whatever capacity you know them. There are people I've met that have no idea how important they were in shaping who I am, and maybe I'm that person to others too. I just don't know.

As I sit here in my Donald Duck pyjamas eating salted caramel ice cream, I think of all the little things I did wrong today, most of them unnoticed by the five classes I taught. I wonder how many other things I did right that I can't even remember. This satisfies my point completely. We only notice the bad stuff. I worry if I post this, whether anyone will relate to it or if I'll just sound weird. I don't know if lots of things in my head make sense to others, but they do to me. I think about how I'm perceived often. How strange that we can never even see our own naked back in the flesh, never mind encounter ourselves as people the way others do.

Oh well, most people who know me think I'm odd enough as it is I suppose!

A philosophical procrastination resource.

Who are you? 

Can anyone answer this question properly? My answer is no. Most people would reel off a list of labels. Me too. We have bodies with recognisable characteristics, but we can change them if we like.

 I could get plastic surgery, get a spray tan, cut my hair short, dye it black, wear brown contact lenses and ask a stranger who I am. They would be describing someone else to my friends who know me as Liv, the girl with a blonde bob, milk-white skin, blue eyes and a small chest. My point is that we project who we want people to see, which I do. #paleandproud

That's just the surface. Superficially, we can 'fix' ourselves, the ethics of which can at times be questionable. The bit underneath is what we so often hide away. Our deepest fears, desires, wants and needs are encased in a tangible vessel of living, breathing, walking, talking components, assigned to you at birth. Your mind and soul can never be seen, only experienced or described. I believe that the self image we project only ever shows a third of us to the world for that very reason. 

We choose what to reveal from the other 66.6% of us by using our physical body as a window to communicate ourselves. Sometimes, we let people in on the little secrets we harbour inside that shell which we prune, preen and perfect for the outside world, which can be scary. 

Why are we scared? It can't REALLY hurt us, not really. We're all governed by the same emotional risks but we're afraid of what we can't understand. We live in an age where we want answers, predictions, reasons and justifications for what is happening in the now. We Google on our iPhones all the questions we don't dare to ask real people. We post on Instagram to get superficial approval, rather than have meaningful human interactions. We want admiration in this Instaculture and are losing the subtle art of patience for the answers to difficult questions. We throw away what no longer serves our purposes, our microwaves, cars, holey socks, old CDs and sadly, people too. We don't fix, we replace. We can't get the answer to the question: 'why', because people can't be explained by Google. We are left to wonder, and we have to fix ourselves when we feel broken, a completely counterintuitive notion within the boundaries of our societal norms. You can't replace a memory or a feeling, you have to learn to live with it. 

But who am I? I'm Soob, Blondie, Miss Thornton, 5'6, size 10, blue eyes, daughter,  acquaintance, best friend, sister. I was five years old once. My mental health is stable. I have a degree, I can sing, and I can work a room or absorb it from the sidelines. I love to talk, philosophise, learn and make judgements. I'm fickle, insecure yet certain, religious, contradictory, and I pay my taxes. I vote, I'm bad at maths, and I have no idea what I want from life except to be happy at the end of it. I'm aware of my naivety and very unassuming, and I think, a lot. Those are the labels I could use to describe 'Liv'. It's not enough, but it's a start. 

If I live to be 100, I'm only 24% complete in my life experience. So no, I can't answer the question of who I am. I think the best answer is probably 'I'll start you off with some labels and you can come and see for yourself'.

Interestingly enough, it's a question we ask each other every day, and possibly the one we're most scared of answering.