The stories we tell ourselves shape our reality. We may try to box ourselves in, but we’re much more expansive and multifaceted than we think. Maybe if we tried to count our sides, they’d approach infinity—like a circle.
Perhaps perfect shapes aren’t the best metaphor for the self. Wouldn’t you rather be beach glass, glimmering in the sun? Or an oddly flat stone, perfect for skipping? Inside we all feel lumpy and irregular. A bit misshapen. And we’re never quite as stable as we pretend to be.
May you find your own way to shape your story. To show off your sharp corners and imperfections. To arrange your life in a unique composition. To create a geometric masterpiece.
I think I can identify with them all!
This is so genius :)