If there is one thing that I could wish for, to accomplish or have gifted to me, in this life, it would be balance. A reassurance that the good counteracts the bad; that the good and bad are clearly defined, and that through the attainment of balance, vision of a clear path would open before me.
The beauty of life is that there is no balance, there is no perfection, but only striving. It is through the constant effort to better myself that I find the most fulfillment, and the most agony.
To starve, or to pour one's creative essence into delicious, life-sustaining food?
To regimen, or freestyle?
To study, or to learn?
To document, or to live and never remember?
To socialize, or to optimize?
To critique, or appreciate oneself in all one's imperfection?
To love, or to refrain from the accompanying pain through logic and stoicism?
Perhaps the most draining, baffling, ever nagging and back and forth question in my mind is this: does love lead to mediocrity?
Self love means that no further attempt at perfection is needed, therefore, why run? Why eat clean? Why get one's nails done or hair refreshed, or pay attention to the fit and color of one's clothing?
Love of others means that there is no changing them; you love them, and you love their flaws as a part of them. Does this mean that the friends you surround yourself with are then no longer motivating? Or one's life partner merely an addition to the monthly food bill?
What perpetrates the illusion of control? That by influencing any one mechanism we can alter the future outcomes of our lives? To an extent, we can. But, so can everyone else, and through the influence of a hundred million varied agendas, life becomes predictably unpredictable, and perfection is sacrificed at the altar of reality.
Where is the balance?
Where does perfection end, and life begin?
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