By Lyssa Myska Allen

I am a walking contradiction, a writer in a talker's shoes, someone always happy who never gets the blues. I spout the ideology of confidence and faith but inside I wonder if I am just a disgrace. I act cocky and walk tall, but I am always afraid I will fall. 

I ask myself if I am good enough, done the right thing or made of the right stuff. I play ball for the love of the game, but if there were no praise would the love be the same? I act like my love is unconditional, but I worry that my need for the acknowledgement is traditional.

I am a mess of ideals, wondering if this is the way everyone feels. I don't want men to rule my life, but with adventures of them my tales are rife.  I try not to worry and just be cool, but I am so afraid I'll be played for a fool.

Confidence and fear go hand in hand, there's no one who has mastered them in this land. How to do it I long to describe, but there are no words in that diatribe. Have faith in yourself for both to come true, confidence arrives and fear is through.

But how do you work your mind out of its twists, its thoughts not neatly organized all within lists? There are emotions layered under experiences forgotten, tangled up like threads in balls of cotton. To find these truths is too hard, simply because they left you so scarred.

How do we humans lead such lives, with our egos vacillating up then taking such dives? I wake up each morning grateful for love, I really do have it when push comes to shove. But reconciling recognition with acceptance is the test, for its risky and painful to be the best. 

To be the best friend, the best lover, the best mother or son, the quest for the best is everything under the sun.  Success, money, love, fame, the gap they're filling is all the same. Turning back to what's inside, the places we keep in the dark to hide.

Self-actualization is an academic term, one that makes almost everyone squirm. It's one of those things that you just know, to explain it the lucidity just doesn't flow. But is it then true that we're all on our own, working alone until we're just grown? 

If we can't be alone but our thoughts are only ours, people are just vessels like little cars. Experiences are vessels of interaction and distraction, modes of hiding and finding the truth behind action. Then what we interpret as the result, relieves or creates our tumult.

Recognizing this pattern is the key, the solution to life's mystery. Recognition must be the only way, it's the only word I can think of to say. It's understanding the roots of your thoughts and fears, the only way your head clears.

Recognition is acceptance of contradiction, understanding that your choices are your own predilection. You get to decide, you are always justified. Embracing the tough and rough things that make you, is the only way to be true.

Image: Some rights reserved by Ionics