BETTER ME vs. REAL ME

Ok, I admit it. Sometimes I desperately want to be better than I am.

I’m kind of a striver that way.

I pursue mind/body integration and personal growth with an intense vigor. Because BETTER ME is always on the horizon. I can see her.

Maybe that guru over there can help me become her. No really. This time, I just know I can achieve the ideal version of me. Just this one more seminar.

BETTER ME manages her emotions in the healthiest way possible. BETTER ME is funny and cool and always has a witty comeback. She is generous and kind. She puts herself out there without fear. She is always concious and present and deeply connected to her highest, authentic self. She’s in tune, dude. Enlightened, even.

BETTER ME is infinitely patient. She treats her family members with respect at all times. Without ever losing her cool. Or being moody. Or throwing a tantrum like her four-year old.

BETTER ME is a vast ocean of deep peace.

I pretend to be BETTER ME a lot. I am willing to protect BETTER ME with a fierceness you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. When my husband points out something about me that drives him crazy (say, for instance, that I’m too emotional), I defend BETTER ME with a vengeance. I cling to the notion that as BETTER ME, I manage my emotions without blowing up. So as I’m clinging and grasping and protecting and defending BETTER ME, I yell, “I am NOT too emotional” (while all steamed over something completely inconsequential). I might even slam a door or two. Kinda like a tantrum.

The funny thing is that REAL ME knows I’m too emotional. And moody. And I sometimes throw a rousing tantrum. And REAL ME is okay with all of that. So there’s nothing to defend. If I’m accused of being too emotional, REAL ME owns it: Yep, you gotta a point there. And you’re still here. Cool.

What about you? Is BETTER YOU smarter than REAL YOU? More productive? More competent? Less messed up?

Imagine how much easier life would be if you dropped the need to defend BETTER YOU and embraced REAL YOU.



Photo by Cyril Breton