Often times I can feel my future self pulling me by hair out of my own puddle of pity. I can feel her frustrations at my haste to quit. When at every small stream or obstacle along the way I crumble from fear and lack of discipline and persistence. I can feel her eyes roll when, in the middle of the race I fall to my knees in tears, because I've lost sight of the finish line. "Get up silly girl. You definitely won't cross the finish line if you drown in your own tears!" Cliche's fill my thoughts and I struggle to accept their wisdom. I'm snuggling in with the comfort of surrender. I can so easily wrap myself up in this plush white flag, but my future self is unimpressed. I can feel her discontent now; but she will humor me. She starts to unpack. Panic begins to wash over me and what was once satisfaction becomes failure. It's been here the whole time and I've been basking in it's lack of expectations. It's been masked in bliss, and my future self waits. She is patient because she knows me. She was me. She is me. She is the only one who can help me. I am compliant now. I start to pick myself up and crawl out of my self-sabotage. I dismiss the self induced fear. This race isn't over. I'm only competing with myself. The finish line is exactly where I've placed it.
Hang tight future self. I'm coming.
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