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I am a con artist. A fake. A liar.

I weave lies into my life as often as the truth, and I could not exist without them. I would be a paper girl, standing on bending legs without my golden spool of fake.

Except for the simple fact that who I am striving to deceive is myself.

I have long since thought that what we believe is the truth in equal measure to the truths that others tell us. Because every truth is coming from someone – my mind or another’s. Every truth is a belief and every belief is a truth.

Perhaps it’s a little embarrassing then to admit how long it took me to recognise the importance of the truths I feed myself that.

Recently, I started a new job – hence the lack of posts.

Having burst unceremoniously forth from the cushioned bed of college life to the unshaking reality of what is often sneeringly referred to as the ‘real world’, I was left a little stunned.

I was not surprised with the reality of an office job, or the freedom of having no coursework in the evenings. Instead, I was disappointingly stunned by the reaction of people to my newly acclaimed status as a certified adult.

 

You can’t avoid life in college forever.

 

Welcome to the real world.

 

You couldn’t stay dreaming forever.

 

Or worse still the laugh that without a doubt exudes; what did you expect.

 

Regardless of anyone’s reactions, adjusting to a new job, new location and new people is a task that was going to take some time.

 

Yet these opinions – which were never intended to be malicious – perpetuated my feeling of standing out in a rain storm, entirely naked and shivering.

 

Every day of being new was and still is hard.

 

Or is that simply a truth I told myself?

 

My ‘struggle switch’ was firmly turned on as I was repulsed by the sheer number of decisions to be made each day.

 

Navigating a new workplace, hospital appointments, car insurance – menial, yet necessary.

 

Oh, how I relished the struggle. Some perverse, conditioned side of mind believed that by applying the same of level of struggle to everything as I always had I was not truly making any decisions.

 

Without struggle, a decision cannot be made, right?

 

The easiest decision I was making was to not make any at all. I was a passenger in my own life despite understanding the full extent of my mind’s power.

 

I was crippling myself everyday by defining myself as ‘struggling’.

 

Where is the logic in that? Perhaps there’s none. Or maybe there’s oceans of science behind why I and so many others promise ourselves that tomorrow we will try harder rather than choosing today.

 

The reason behind it doesn’t matter. What matters is how I moved forward as a decision maker, having realised just how tired I was of not acting at all.

 

So, I became a con-artist. A fake. A liar.

 

In the most glorious way possible.

 

What is to say that if I tell myself that I am confident and act accordingly so often that that does not become my truth?

 

And so, my mind is now smoke and mirrors of illusions where I combat doubt with certainty that only feels like a lie in the beginning. Before it is embedded as my truth.

 

And what could happen if you did the same? If you removed the assumption that you cannot change with the certainty that you are already changing?

 

Very soon your new, internal, truthful dialogue would become an external fact of action.

 

Try it. Tell yourself of your strength and conviction of choices.

 

Why would I be afraid to ring the dentist when I am utterly comfortable on the phone?

 

Why would I fixate on another person’s opinion if my body when I know that as long I am existing, by default, my body is perfect?

 

Step by step, you are revolutionising your present and future until you are not only logical but capable.

 

Never a passenger again.

 

Quite a revolutionary thought, isn’t it?

 

Write soon,

 

Jennifer x

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