Adventures in vulnerability, part 2.

I talk about vulnerability a hell of a lot for someone who finds it really f*cking hard.

This isn’t a follow-on from my previous post, Adventures in vulnerability.

It’s not a neat Segway that takes you from A to B.

Truth be told, I didn’t even read my previous post before writing and publishing this.

Maybe I should’ve done. Maybe this is reckless.

And what.

I am somewhat obsessed with the idea that we are and can be many things.

We can be weak and strong. Helpless and powerful. Whole and lost.

Our emotional and psychological experiences don’t (have to) fit into boxes.

And, truth be told, they rarely do anyway. (See above.)

I’ve never used the phrase ‘truth be told’ before.

That’s a lie.

I probably have done, at some or other point in my life. But I don’t remember doing so. It hasn’t stuck with me. It hasn’t formed part of my personal vernacular, not like context is all or every little helps (thanks Tesco) or any of the other stories — truths — that I tell myself daily, whether consciously or otherwise.

We are but stories. And life is but a series of moments. So much is as yet unwritt…