The Art of Being Unfinished

Dear Delyara, I used to be obsessed with the "final version" of myself. I thought if I just worked hard enough, read enough books, and healed enough wounds, I would eventually reach a state of perfection where nothing could hurt me again. What a lonely goal that was. Tonight, I wrote a letter to my "Unfinished Self." I admitted that I am still a work in progress, full of contradictions and half-baked ideas. And for the first time, I felt okay with that. The sanctuary isn't a place for perfect people; it’s a place for the messy, the growing, and the incomplete. I am leaving the pressure to be "done" at the door. I am a rough draft, and the story is getting better with every page.