Sometimes, maybe the leopard gets tired and wants the opportunity to change his spots? Maybe the chameleon grows bored of the color games, freaks at the sight of his own trans-coloring, so much so he’d kill for a little bit of stablility? No one ever asks the Mink if they’d like a coat back.
All I know though, no one needs to ask me.
I am not better than anyone. I don’t even wish to be.
The only person I’m better than is the person I was last night or two weeks ago. Truthfully, the only person I aspire to out-better tomorrow is the person I already am today. I can’t change who I am now. I can change tomorrow’s guy though.
I’m in competition with my own history and I am polishing my skin, oiling it, scheming to get better at beating my own naivete, losing my bazijillion prejudicies, permitting myself less and less indulgence in guilty pleasures, envying less, cultivating a stronger grit percentage, shaming myself and celebrating it, aiming to do tomorrow just one percent better that which I did today.
Bettering myself, helping myself.
Ottessa Moshfegh, I love.
Zadie Smith, I heart.