Some days, no matter who we are or what our circumstances, are fragile. Some days, for each of us, require such gentle handling that we perch on the precipice of falling, at risk even to the mildest of stimuli.
So let us be gentle with each other--even when we're having the easiest, the fiercest of days, we never know what fragility, what gremlins lie in wait for those we come across.
Many of us have learned the hard lesson of putting on a brave face, a calm face even in the midst of great battles.
I think we often fall into the misconception that it takes energy to be who we are, to show up for ourselves, as ourselves. But it's the misconception that taxes us, the trying to try, or not to try, as the case may be.
Being, even becoming (or allowing) who we are should be easiest thing in the world. Does that mean there aren't things to learn about ourselves or about how to navigate the world? Of course not. There's always more to learn for the willing. But there should be (key: should be, ought to be) an ease in our bearing, in our communication, in our arrival. The trick is always, always to allow. To allow for shortcomings, for mistakes, for misunderstandings because attempting to avoid those is what costs us, what depletes us.
It's inevitable that people won't like you, just as it's inevitable that you won't like everyone. And, sure, you'll talk about those you dislike in unkind ways, and you'll regret that, and maybe you'll learn, or maybe you won't, but allow either outco...
We live under this illusion that we must always improve, that we must always do better, work "on ourselves" (whatever that means). All that litany does is remind us that we're not perfect, that perfect is a goal we should strive toward, and negates, more or less, anything we've done in the past or do now.
It's a silly occupation, corporate/Puritan-designed busywork to keep us, I think, from enjoying what we have, what we do, what we've achieved, and, heck, who we are. We aren't meant to work toward being a better version of ourselves--how insulting is that? We're here to pursue curiosity and passion and love and beauty and kindness, and if we can do even one of those things each day, we're doing just fine.
And you know what? Even on the days we don't, even on the days we're less kind, less inspired, less curious, well, hell. We're pretty damn good versions of ourselves on those days, too. We have to live authentically, and if we can do that with transparency and truth and kindness,...
Hope is our dearest possession--easy to come by when we're small, harder and harder to find as we get older. And though it seems easier to give up, to give in to pessimism and the so-called reality born of experience, it isn't. It isn't easier to live without hope. Yes, of course we'll meet with disappointment, but wouldn't it be better for our health *not* to assume the worst? Prepare, certainly, but not out of fear or expectation, but out of personal responsibility and common sense.
But keep hope. Without it we will flounder and flail and become something substantially less than human.
So often are we caught in the whirlwind of our own orbit that we have no idea the impact we have on those spinning alongside us. Petals, we are so loved. We are being willed to succeed, to be happy, to be complete, and we've forgotten for so long that we've ceased to believe it. We've ceased believing in support, relying all too heavily on our own dwindling resources.
Well, I admit it--most days I don't believe it either. But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist, that there isn't a benign force constructed out of our own and others' goodwill, peppered with a hefty dose of loving kindness from the unseen. If there were ever a time of year to remember, to humor old beliefs in hopes they'll garner new ones, this is it.
I, for one, am tired of entertaining that draining house guest, Worst Case Scenario, within these walls.
It's because we know what *could* happen that we paralyze ourselves. And for some reason, we never think, "oh, this *could* be fabulous." No, we always seem to go full-throttle for disaster. I suppose preparing for the worst isn't the worst (ha!) thing we could do. But how does that saying go, "expect the best but prepare for the worst"?
Well. I think we're leaving a vital step out of that equation...
So. Here's to the best we can expect--without trepidation, curses, or jinxes.
We are sweet creatures, petals, and we deserve a hell of a break.
Self-love is the hardest thing on earth, truly. We are so ugly to ourselves over so-called flaws that, while no doubt glaringly hideous to us, go unnoticed by absolutely everyone else. And the thing is--we know that. We know that, and we both don't believe it and can't help ourselves, even if we could believe.
So what's the answer? I have no idea. I have no idea, except to turn the critic on her ear and offer *her* compassion. Because, honestly, that shrill, judgmental voice is simply an angry, frustrated little soul with no other way of expressing her grief. Throw love at her. Let her vent, but throw love. Have both, for now, and eventually (I think), find love.