Yesterday someone asked me:
“How did you get so confident? You’re so at ease and happy in your skin and personality.”
And this is what I said:
I love me because it’s the rational, logical thing to do.
There’s only one person I will spend every minute of my life with, and that’s myself, so I might as well truly love and enjoy her. I might as well spend eternity with my own very best friend.
Besides, why on earth should I think I need to be anything but what I am? That’s not rational. That’s not logical. I was born this way and therefore it’s exactly what I’m supposed to be.
I don’t think a zebra is out there thinking about how it’s stripes need to be thinner or differently placed. It’s just thinking WOO HOO I AM A MOTHERFUCKING ZEBRA! I AM GOING TO BE A GLORIOUS STRIPEY NEIGH NEIGH AND EAT MY GRASS AND ENJOY THIS SUN FOR AS LONG AS I CAN.
And that’s a splendid way to live I reckon. Loving what you are, enjoying this adventure for as long as we get to have it.
What’s the other option?
Second guessing yourself and your stripes, wondering whether you are worthy or glorious, and walking around with your head too stuck up your own asshole to enjoy all the little miracles all around us? That seems like a shit, angsty way to live life.
Be like a motherfucking zebra instead.
It’s the only way to live that makes sense.