Who’s she with now?
What does she think of me?
What is she doing?
Will I ever get a good job?
How can I ever afford that!?
These and more. I’ve been there. Sometimes, I think I live there: the never ending questions on whether I’m good enough, smart enough, whatever enough. I’m young, I’m allowed such ruminations. Insecurity is, I think, a facet of youth.
Yet, none is more pronounced than those that deal with those we love, those we want to love us back. I find my well curated facade of confidence and nonchalance (and it’s all a facade, even with you) breaks when confronted with my own intense affection and attraction. I become the proverbial stuttering mess. It’s actually funny to watch myself go through these thoughts and feelings, the silly imaginings, the case scenarios of heartbreak and gloom.
And that’s all they are, that’s all everything is: thoughts. Reality is shaped by what we think, and reality then shapes what we think (vicious or virtuous circle/ cycle. It’s really all up to you). Being insecure, therefore is a futile endeavour: one creates a reality that doesn’t yet exist, and then becomes a prisoner of that very existence. A beautiful parallax of sorts, if ever there was one, noticing this twisted wondrousness.
So, maybe you are whatever enough. Whatever you think it is you are you’re right.