Human AF

Human AF

At some point during the magical journey mind bonk that is life, I decided that I should’ve been born with a fully-formed idea of what it means to be a person in the world. That I should just know how to be kind to myself, how to be patient, how not to hurt people and all the while being able to use the word ‘dichotomy’ properly in a sentence and remember to brush my hair every morning.

That was until I came across three little words:

Human as fuck, or to put it more delicately, Human AF.

Learning of the existence of this phrase made me exhale so fully and deeply that if you’d heard me you would have thought I’d been holding my breath for decades.

Because to me this feels like a permission slip to be weird and dumb and wonderful and grumpy and everything else that comes up when you’re a heart and soul and body.

It’s exhausting feeling like I should know better all the time, like I should have come preinstalled with better software. Because all I came loaded with is the ability to sniff out a wedge of Brie from fifty paces.

Life is a squiggly line from Birth to Death that stops along the way at places like ‘I don’t know what’s happening right now!’, ‘For the love of Buddha, why?’ and ‘You’d better make that seventeen spring rolls, Linda’. The sooner we embrace the fact that our time here is going to be messy because we’re messy, the more likely we’ll enjoy the ride.

Because I think we’re actually supposed to stumble around like one-legged pirates. We supposed to stuff up, have our hearts broken, say the wrong thing sometimes and motorboat inappropriate people. Because it’s the only way we’ll learn how to love better, live better and become better friends. By getting our hands dirty in the business of being exactly who we were designed to be: humans learning how to be humans.

I know that you probably think that ‘embracing our humanity’ needs to get in line behind more important issues since we’re currently murdering our home and there’s a 45% chance we’re on the brink of a zombie apocalypse. But maybe when we accept ourselves as the strange, imperfect creatures that we are we’ll feel safe enough to be vulnerable and open. Maybe then we’ll feel less inclined to want to dominate those around us and beat our chests as if we were the most important species on the planet. We’ll be less likely to want to consume “stuff’” in the hope that it fills the hole we think we have inside of us. And when we accept ourselves as the fragile beings that we are we’ll be more accepting of the fragile beings standing next to us.

And I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of beating myself up for being exactly who I am. I want to like what I see in the mirror, even though I’m not shaped like a beer bottle. I want to stuff up and not feel like it’s the end of the world. I want to be brave enough to let others see me for who I am, not who I think I should be. And I want to be down with the terror and the joy of being Human AF on this rollercoaster called life.

Thoughts? Comments? Criticisms? Hit me up over on my Facebook page.

Tracy

 

 

 

 

P.S. If this sounds vaguely familiar it’s because the protagonist of my novel 60 Ways to Die in South America has a similar epiphany after madly avoiding death.