the exquisite taste

surface and truth are not the same thing.

we grow up without naming what aches. a thin veneer forms between what is shown and what is real.

we become sensitive to that gap — the space between what is offered and what is held.

when authenticity is traded for belonging, we feel it.

pretence is excruciating

we stand just outside the frame, drawn to the unmasked, the imperfect, the alive.

to belong to ourselves first.

rather than presenting, we reveal.

no rushing to fill gaps. no performance of friendliness.

staying truthful is excruciating when a life has been built on disconnection.

when we've belonged through exclusion, gossip, projection — another's authenticity exposes what we've hidden.

it shakes the world we built to protect what we've hidden.

the raw, the intimate, the real cut straight through what is hollow.

Authenticity is where our aliveness begins.

The exquisite beauty of vulnerability—we feel it, we long for it.

There comes a point when pretending is no longer possible.

Nothing left to hide.

A return to ourselves. risking it all for our one precious life. 

we meet the parts still clinging to performance.

who are we when we are no longer impressive, friendly, or agreeable?

where do we stand in the fire of imperfection?

if the world finds us comfortable, we are far from our truth.

truth rearranges. it shifts. it builds depth, loyalty, connection.

those who brave these edges are a rare delight.

they drink from the well of authenticity.

we invite them in. we allow ourselves in.

bathe in the exhilaration of shared aliveness.

true beauty unsettles. it brings us close to our edges. it is not for the faint-hearted.

the performance is over. our lives begin.