An Ode to Vulnerability

An ode, as Old English describes, is a lyrical stanza in praise, or a statement in dedication which relates to an inspired topic which holds interest to the writer, or usually a poet (, 2014).  Now usually an Ode is sung or rhymes, but that\’s not the point of this, it is more of a interest piece and I would like to \”spill my guts\” if you will about my vulnerability in this world that, at most times, seems confusing, angering and just plain sad.  Some might see this as negative, but I believe in being honest and true, and not pretending to think that things are always beautiful and happy.  There are those times, but to recognize and embrace the bad, I feel like only good can come, as one can see the hardships of the world, recognize them and change them one thought at a time.  I ask that if you read this, then you do your own ode to vulnerability and see what comes from it.  It is liberating.  Once you make yourself vulnerable the only person in control of your thoughts and feelings is you.  You have  been true to yourself and no one can take that away from you.  Here we go…
I may not be the person everyone sees me as.  I make mistakes and I do let the words of others affect me.  Facebook sometimes makes me sad and question my life if I am on the right path.  Emotions are brought up that I never knew I had and they sometimes scare me.  I am not the person I am on Facebook, I am more then that, but some people take profiles as literal.  I try to be honest as much as I can, but sometimes I skew the truth in order to impress others.  I have lied about big and little things.  I have stolen when I said I have not, which includes stealing hearts and hurting relationships.  I talk about eating well and being healthy, but I don\’t do this all the time.  I talk about exercise and healthy habits like stimulating the mind and being aware, but most of the time I feel like there is too much knowledge in the world to fully understand it all.  I realize more then ever by comparing myself to others that I am imperfect.  Sometimes this imperfection makes me try and sometimes it makes me fail.  Sometimes I get down on myself and think, \”what\’s the point?\”, but then other days I wake up refreshed and ready to try in some way to follow my goals, aspirations and dreams.  I don\’t want to pretend any more that I am not apart of this consumerism lifestyle.  I shop.  I enjoy it.  I wear the clothes from China, probably made in a sweat shop.  I know this and yet I still show people my new shoes, my new shirt, my new whatever.  I buy things hoping I am being sustainable, but you can\’t buy your way to conserving the Earth\’s resources.  What a silly thought.  I can buy the hemp shoes, the recycled paper making set, the compost bin, but they still use resources and still inflict damage.  For some reason I gain satisfaction, thinking \”I\’m doing my part.\”  I\’m not, I\’m just adding to the problem.  But what else can I do?  I grew up in a society that told  me this is all okay.  That the history I learn in school is correct, that the older generations know what\’s best, and that material goods can bring happiness.  When I think about these now and it makes me angry and sad. Fucking lies.  I\’m not saying all of it was wrong, but if all of it was right then we would not be in the situation we see ourselves today.  Wars, death, starvation, obesity, disappearing water sources, digging massive holes in the Earth looking for more minerals to make more, more, more.  We are a parasite on this Earth, we take and we do not give back.  We will kill our host if something is not done soon.  But what do we do?  I\’m sure I feel like most of you, helpless, unsure of what will actually make a difference.  I look outside from my high-rise apartment close to down town, overlooking a highway and all the passing cars and people, and think, if we built all of this, generations of innovators, then surely we can bring it down, start again and change it the way we need.  Yes, it will take time, but I\’m sick of waiting.  Waiting for something to happen to finally be like , \”O great now I can do something.\”  But to be honest, I will probably just do the opposite.  I don\’t want to do anything alone.  We are a social species.  We are the most powerful when we come together. I wish we could stand tall and march for change, whatever that really means, because usually change, as history has shown, occurs hand-in-hand with violence, which I am not advocating.  Its funny because even when people do march for change, like in peaceful protests, the higher ups look down and smirk.  Police line the streets.  This is not democracy. This is fascism covered up by H&M sales, billboards telling young girls they aren\’t pretty enough, people manipulating other people to buy more, when they really don\’t need too. Does this not make other people angry or sad?  When I talk to people about it, most agree there is a major disconnect between this capitalist facade and the actual truth.  I am just being honest, but I am sure most people will probably be thinking \”well, who are you to judge?!\”   I get that.  I am just like you.  I admit it.  I am no better, if anything I might be worse.  I have little stress in my life.  I don\’t work.  I hate work.  Who doesn\’t.  I have money from my family and I\’m not proud of it, but I don\’t want to give it up, who would?  I give here and there, but I know it\’s not enough to make an actual difference.  I\’m not blind to my own ignorance, and to be honest I accept it.  I embrace the fact that I am part of the problem.  I want to make this statement to show that I am honest with myself and everyone who wants to read this.  I don\’t really have a reason for doing this.  It just needed to come out.  This burning passion inside of me to help others in some way is feeling trapped because I feel like its not going to make a big enough difference, and this is my way of releasing some of the tension.  I am not who I say I am.  I am more and less.  I try to be something, but sometimes I think I am nothing.  But at least I know this. This is me at my most vulnerable.

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