To,
Who knows? For everything. And nothing.

I was asked to write a poem about insecurity.
And how to get over it.

Like a poem could supplant the search one has to do of himself.

And I was told to be subtle.
To be symbolic.

I had to make sure that the poem had direction.

So I decided to write a letter instead. And to be blunt. And to be literal.

But I'll keep the direction.

So, to:
Who knows? For nothing. And everything.

Stop thinking of insecurity as a transgression against yourself. You dwell too much and I can't imagine it's healthy.
Everyone is riddled with self doubt and the worry. It's the human condition. And by it, it means you are human. And you are, thusly, conditioned.

I think you lack ambition. And not that you're lazy. Or don't have high hopes. I just think you're content. But aren't we all? It's the human condition. And by it, it means you are human. And you are, thusly, conditioned.

I think we confuse self doubt, that feeling with which we feel we are incapable, and lacking ambition, that feeling with which perhaps we are too tired, too empty, too busy, too over simplified, too overly complex, too full of excuses. It's the human condition. And by it, it means you are human. And you are, thusly, conditioned.

And maybe that's not true. I'm not a philosopher. Not a psychiatrist. I'm not a self help book. I'm not even really well adjusted. I am woefully ignorant of most things. It's the human condition. And by it, it means I am human. And I am, thusly, conditioned.

Perhaps, it's not about getting over insecurities. Perhaps it's about how to make the world a place where we aren't conditioned to feel so insecure.

If there is beauty in humanity, surely it is in the imperfections and the fears and doubts that coincide.

I believe that we are meant to change in the world the things that terrify us. The things that break our hearts.

Find that.

From,
Chagrin Masked as Empty Bravado