But my mind tells me so...
I don’t know if it was ever said out loud, or if the expectation was ever written down anywhere, but at some point in this journey called life, I felt like I had to be perfect. Not the kind of perfect that fixates on aesthetics, or a particular look. I had freedom in that regard, mostly. Trayvon Martin’s murder by George Zimmerman reminded me that I needed to be conscious about what I wear. But even still, my idea of perfection never rested in my looks or my outward appearance. It rested in...
