I am not, I am

Somehow, in the everyday-ish-ness of it all I seem to unconciously reconcile all the things I am not. Everywhere you look, there seems to be a mark against which you might measure yourself, and in my humanity find lack.
I am not.
I am.

So.
I am not willowey, amazonian, petitte. I am tall, curvey, curley.
I am not fashionable, chic, smooth. I love, am quirky, assured.
I am not manicured, peticured, made up. I am natural, glowing, fresh
I am not old, young, wizened. I am willing, able, eager

To know your lack and decide on the materiality of it. To place it into perspective, and give honest consideration to those that are certainly real shortcomings. How does one honestly look in the mirrror, seeing past the initial distortions and self doubt, to truely know and see and feel and change.

So perhaps I ask, who is it that I wish to be, considering what I am.
To love with true love, to be patient, kind, gentle, truthful and honest, all the things we feel a moral obligation to be. To be bright and cheerful, alive and full of the vivacity that is life? To know what it is to cry, to sob, to mourn, and to know joy, cheer, laughter and love.
To not shy away from that which may be painful, to not take offence. To beleive the very best of everyone, the to encourage and motivate them to be the best they can be.

So in asking all this, is it too much to aspire to?

Many people want to live with no regrets. What does that mean? For myself, I do not care for it. I want to live from my heart.

N.