The ideal version of me is not a dream or destination, but more so a decision.
She is the woman I am now and the woman I will be.
She is not a woman I have to write to, but remember and reimagine.
You see, the state of being ideal is situational.
It’s not a suit you slide on eventually.
Ideal you is not your spic and span version,
But the one with speckles of flaws and beams of beauty.
She is not only present when triumph is.
She is there during the tribulations.
I never want to feed myself the illusion that the ideal me only exists in the future
which I reach via a time traveling machine.
She is available now for me to meet..
To touch,
To get to know.
I don’t have to reach for her, I just have to remember and reimagine her.
Remember what ideal looks like now,
Reimagine what ideal looks like in 20 years.
It’s not that I oppose delayed gratification,
It’s that I am full of gratitude for the ideal versions of me that have come and gone.
That already exist(ed).
The versions of me that have shape shifted to carry me through various seasons of life.
The ideal version of me is not something I inherit.
My human defects don’t have to die for me to step into me, ideally.
There will always be room to grow.
There will always be something to fix.
So I’ll be her currently and eventually.
I’ll take risks, I’ll self correct,
I’ll love and reflect.
I’ll have faith, I’ll utilize my discernment.
I’ll be frugal with my energy.
I’ll be wise with what I ingest.
I’ll be flawed and I’ll mess up.
I’ll come back with my mop of accountability
I’ll clean up my spills.
I’ll accept that I will never be perfect because I will forever be human.
Ideally, that is me.
A woman full of understanding,
with a deep knowledge of myself, this life, on this Earth.
Ideally, my soul introduces itself before you hear me speak.
Ideally, I leap to live my life despite the dark and gut wrenching fears that try to shackle me to idea of being safe in familiarity.
To be ideal is to be iridescent,
A spectrum of beautiful moments that depend on
the angle you look at them.
If there were a yearbook of each year of my existence,
I’d find it’d be signed “Me, ideally”.
Because ideal me made an appearance each year.
Even the years I hated,
Even the years that hurt.
Even if she didn’t stay, she came and visited me.
All of it is me.
And truthfully,
what is more ideal than accepting yourself in totality even if you’ve been broken into pieces?
But even more importantly,
accepting yourself in totality….Today.