The Heart Principle (The Kiss Quotient, #3)

by Helen Hoang

Being tough on myself isn’t working now, though. I can’t try harder than I already am.

I want to make the “correct” decision.

I do wonder if she’s acting just like I am. How much of what people say is genuine and how much is politeness?

Is anyone really living their life or are we all reading lines from a giant script written by other people?

“I have to start at the beginning. That’s just what you do.

“But I can’t skip the beginning. If I can’t get it right, then I don’t deserve to play the next part, and I don’t deserve to play the ending,” I say, conviction in every word. “What is this about deserving?

And I really do understand, logically. But emotionally, it’s another matter.

I must be more than “good enough.” I must be dazzling.

“I’d like you to watch what you’re doing and saying, and if it’s something that doesn’t feel right and true to who you are, if it’s something that exhausts you or makes you unhappy, take a look at why you’re doing it. And if there isn’t a good reason . . . try not doing it.”

You have to learn how to listen to yourself again, to be yourself.”

which is my default reaction to most things—inaction. I don’t have a fight-or-flight instinct. I have a freeze instinct.

Something is wrong with my mind. I can see it when I take a step back and analyze my actions, but in the moment, when I’m practicing, I can never tell.

For that’s the only place where true perfection exists—the blank page. Nothing I actually do can compete with the boundless potential of what I could do. But if I allow the fear of imperfection to trap me in perpetual beginnings, I’ll never create anything again. Am I even an artist, then? What is my purpose, then?

I have to do something and take control of this situation, or I’ll be stuck in this hell forever.

“Just because something isn’t perfect doesn’t mean we need to throw it away.

We head down quiet side streets lined with trees, upscale apartments, and parks, and

I realize he’s steering clear of the busy parts of town.

He’s being careful, just as he promised. He’s ...

Perhaps this is what I’ve always needed without really knowing it, to love myself without shame and without reservation.

The mental problems that I’m facing aren’t worthy of their respect or even a cursory attempt at understanding. In their minds, I need to identify the problem, find a solution, and get on with it. It should be that easy.

even though I didn’t set a new record, I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t pretty. I threw up, I fell, I cried like a little kid, but I made it. I finished. I did my part. I’ll keep doing my part. I finally feel like me again.

It’s hard for me to logically conceptualize what I did that’s so wrong. I spoke the truth. I stood up for myself. Why is that bad?

“It wasn’t my choice. I was just trying to do the right thing.”

“You were supposed to understand. We were supposed to be in this together.”

It seems dead, but it’s just in transition.

I can see now that I can never go back to the way things were. It was foolish of me to think I could find a magic key to turn back time. The truth is art will never be as effortless as it used to be, not now that people have expectations of me. All I can do is go forward, and to do that, I must stop chasing perfection. It doesn’t exist. I can never please everyone. It’s hard enough just pleasing myself. Instead, I must focus on giving what I have, not what people want, because that is all I can give.

I hear the voices in my head,

criticizing me, judging me. Oftentimes they get the best of me, and I finish practice feeling despondent. But I keep going anyway. Fighting the compulsion to start over, to seek perfection, to outwit the voices, is exhausting, and most days I can only manage for a few hours before I know my brain has had it. This is a necessary thing for me to learn, though. If I’m sensitive to my own resource levels, I can keep myself from falling sick again. A slow me is much better than a sick me.

It never gets easier.

but I stay true to myself.

I hope my art makes them feel. I hope it makes them think. I hope it has an impact.

This group is small, but it’s good. It’s all that I need. Feeling emotional and very much alive,