Maybe the chips that you step on or probably the bubble mailer treated as a fickle pop distraction. You choose.

There’s a silent power of not being chosen in a timeline that feels chosen. Tongue twister but the irony isn’t even questionable, its truth. If you’re okay with removing the veil that’s been blocking your perception that is.

What does it actually mean to be chosen? I mean seriously who gets to be chosen and who doesn’t? Most of the time it can feel like we’re competing for a timeline that is still sipping its smoothie nonchalanty. A blueberry one at that, so we’re all kinda screwed. We start competing with a mask that eventually doesn’t make sense. It’s like Scooby-doo except the villain isn’t someone else. It becomes you when you become a court jester for a timeline with a one-dimensional portal.  Yeah I’m guilty of the jester tactics so excuse me while I make this a diary moment. 

If You were chosen?

I’ll just skip the bullshit and get straight into it. If you were chosen earlier would you shrink or would you be okay with the bare minimum?  As if you were treated like chosen meat on sale at the grocery store. That part is actually painfully true because my only reason for buying on sale chicken was that it was….forty cents cheaper. Would you feel validated or would you be a victim to the evocative feelings of it. This sounds like a game of would you rather except you’re being asked the hard questions that even make a tax return form giggle. 

I’ll be honest, if I was chosen earlier, I’d probably shrink and convince myself that an illusion was truth. I’d probably overlook a lot of things because the truth would probably smile while pissing me off at the same time. It’s like getting a participation medal, except it’s bronze and plastic so, bravo to an ineffective award. Being chosen gives us two parallels.  One that’s at our own volition and then being selected  at someone or something else’s disposal. It’s easier to morph truth into fiction when it doesn’t challenge the idea that being chosen means you are whole. 

I’ve wondered many times what timeline I’d be on if I was hand picked for things that made me digestible on a scale. The intentions would be imperceptible sure, but the illusions would be having an open mic night internally. Sometimes not being chosen earlier gives you a chance to come out of the hanged position of feeling devalued and forgotten. You aren’t forgotten. You just haven’t been initiated onto a timeline that asks you to say “Fuck you” instead of “choose me”.

The Power Of Not Being Chosen Earlier

Not chosen? No problem. You just officially crossed the threshold of auditioning for a cup and walking away from it. Even if it takes eight times to see it, you are still walking away from cups that don’t serve you. I once walked away from a job because I was asking to be seen, instead of actually being seen. I walked away from a simple Margarita on a cruise because the bartender took forever to notice me. That one was slightly distressing as my mind already created a personalized fantasy around the drink. It symbolized freedom and letting loose in a matrix that loves when you’re confined. 

I recall an earlier memory of not being chosen for a girls slumber party. I was a kiddo, so a Time Machine would probably execute the details better than I can. Everyone got an invite except for me. I wondered why not me? My question became a life long prophecy of “Why me”? Because if I’m not felt or understood then I am not chosen.I am only tolerated when the tables don’t shake. How tragic to train in being a people pleaser when the award is for things that will never be pleased. The Philosophy of being overlooked is like an epiphany that only unlocks at 3 am. Either you get it or you miss it trying to catch another snooze. Unless you have work then snooze away. 

Holding Yourself With Two Arms

  You learn to hold yourself with both arms instead of depending on a string like you are passive laundry hanging outside. You don’t collapse because your integrity can be bargained for the sake of being in a popularity contest that can feel rigged if you are depending too much on it. I think if I was chosen earlier, I’d probably let a ton of bullshit serve as a cloaked sultan in the flesh. And I mean a ton of bullshit like saying yes although I meant no, politely smiling although I’m internally spiraling and just a myriad of illusions that would’ve felt like a game of pointing the fingers of who to blame for this. 

Sometimes you have to choose yourself first before you can let the world do it for you. Not in the cliche way that makes you itchy in annoyance but the one that blocks out outside that’s been trying to serve as an anchor.

I gave you the truth so I think it’s only fair that I give you the feeling. Grab your popcorn and sour candy, because its about to get real on a mirrored level.

If I Was Chosen

If I was chosen earlier

Would I defer my truth?

For comfort of those

That chose me for convenience?

Would I be okay with shrinking in small buildings

That feel tall?

Would I be okay with illusions

That have a moon as a witness

Maybe I’d circumvent the idea of validation 

That wasn’t tied to an immutable physical world

Who would I be if I was chosen earlier?

I’d probably be cloaked in swords of confusion

Because I’d probably let outside noise 

Present me with a cup

To mute any thinking

To have me conditioned into being impervious 

To my own understanding 

If I was chosen earlier

Would I skip the phase of solidarity?

Or would the inevitable truth of self-discovery

Embrace me first?

Are you still waiting to be chosen or will you finally initiate some change and stop standing there like an extra in a movie. No judgment because I was too but I’m getting up now. Being chosen isn’t the final form. Your initiation is.

This isn’t a blog, it’s a portal.

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