The Myth of Flawless People

"Sometimes I wonder, why do we grow up in illusions, only get smacked by reality later?"
"So we’re forced to pick up the chisel and carve out our life ourselves."

My first real encounter with pragmatism came when I started noticing flaws in my parents, the very people I once believed to be perfect. I saw that those who taught me the meaning of life didn't have it all figured out. Their wisdom, though well-intentioned, was many times erroneous.

I realized that those who protected me from the world were, in their own ways, broken. Their advice, once received like scripture, sometimes resembled educated guesswork, or worse, sweeping generalizations.

And that, perhaps, was my most heartbreaking rendezvous with reality. A brutal emotional whiplash of growing up.

Eventually, I had to confront the uncomfortable truth that I'd have to unlearn much of what they’d taught me. Reject many of their ideologies because they didn't align with mine. That the place which once felt the safest no longer guaranteed peace for the person I was becoming.

As difficult as it was, I had to live with their tarnished image, where they were complex, imperfect beings, whom I can no longer place on a pedestal.

But oddly enough, it was also my first real taste of acceptance. Accepting that there's no one I can follow blindly in life. That even the most well-meaning people can fall short. That it's possible to love someone deeply and still need boundaries with them.

Accepting that heart can, quite inconveniently, house both affection and resentment at once. That forgiveness is rarely neat, and sometimes must be granted without the luxury of an apology. That someone can be flawed, confused, even wrong, and still have a heart worth reaching for.

And, above all, accepting that love, in its different forms, is profound and beautiful, but not always as simple as I wish it to be.