The People We Wish We Were

Love is Not a Victory March by Marie

Love is Not a Victory March by Marie

Admiration can so quickly turn to envy and self deprecation
When we see someone else who in the sliver of their life we see
Inspires us and yet reflects back the part of us we like the least
We desire that which we are not yet and perhaps cannot be
And in our infatuation with the people we wish we were
We fail to fall in love with the people that we truly are
And the long and sometimes painful journey that forged our story
Not that we don’t continue to change and grow and evolve
But that our lives are not lived in the pursuit of some ideal person
Bound by expectations that are not ours and roles we don’t fit
Perhaps, it is the very piece of that personality which others note
Sometimes in a remark they intend to be helpful or constructive
That reconfirms in ourselves our own unresolved identity issues
Re-awakening the voice that tells us that we don’t fit or belong
Yet, that very trait in the right setting becomes the gift we bring
The key that unlocks the possibility of the moment that once was closed
From the well of our souls we pull forth the living water to bring life
And perhaps that moment goes unseen and unheard even by us
When I reflect upon the crucible that formed and shaped me
The white hot forge where the steel was folded and shaped
And the stone that slowly honed the edges of my life for its fight
Or the continual use that dented and dulled my blade
Sending me back again to the blacksmith’s forge and stone
And how that strength was used again and again and again
Yet, somehow wanting to be something different, another tool
But it is that form and shape, the gifts and the limitations
That come together in this form and I am who I am
Maybe someday the smith will shape me to be something new
Some softer tool forged from more malleable materials
Perhaps, someday, the task for which I was shaped will be complete
But until that day, I was created and honed and wonderfully made
A masterwork of sweat and long labor pounded into form
And the person I am for all the imperfect edges I may see
For all the admiration of the other tools in the creator’s workspace
I can still wonder at the labor and the struggle that forged me
And rather than longing for the person I wish I was
I can learn celebrate to celebrate, with the smith, the person I am 
Neil White, 2014

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