I remember when I was younger, being clumsy, clueless and spaced out. The sort of child who would blunder into a situation and have little awareness of what was going on while still in its midst. I felt I was left out of explanations and plans everyone else was clued into and could only look around in confusion when situations unexpectedly changed, listlessly attempting to mimic those around me in hope of finding footing.

One thing I came out of that with was a belief I have zero fashion sense or ability to coordinate colours. I still find myself frequently unaware of what to do, how to do, when and in what order, so these days I ask. I think I used to believe I had to work everything out myself, that if I were as smart as everyone told me, I would be able to do that. At some point this changed and was replaced with the belief that <s>intelligent</s> sensible, responsible and humane behaviour included admitting error and ignorance, and seeking help. So I ask questions.

Maybe I always did ask but do not recall. Maybe I have carried through my life the appearance, and perhaps the fact, of helplessness. Maybe it is consequently natural for people to assume I could not know what I am doing or be aware of my situation and the decisions I make, and to believe that my life should be ordered according to the democratic input of others. Yeah, maybe I look like I need people to tell me how to live.

I still am often clueless and stumbling my way through life. I have long believed myself basically incompetent at living. And I am afraid of confidence, because when I am confident and when I relax my hold on myself is when I blunder most and cause hurt or ruin. However I do not want my autonomy to belong to others. Even if I seek input I do not wish to turn over the decision itself. And I do not wish to believe I need this.

That seems a bit ironic.