Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

The graceful strength of ferocity.

December 8, 2017

 

I talk about strength a lot, I know. I think it's one of those whistling-in-the-dark tactics, like when I used to sing loudly to myself if I were alone in my grandparents' haunted house. You know. Scare off the ghosts. But that's a post for another time. 

 

It's the same thing, though, right? Talk about something enough, explore it, turn it over in your hands, and innately understand it enough to either realize how easily it can be attained, or that you've already possessed it in the first place.

 

Now, I'm not a fan of the whole fake-it-till-you-make-it philosophy. I hate faking anything and I hate lying--they do not make for firm footing. I'm much more a fan of authentic transparency. If I don't get it, if I'm not comfortable, I'm not going to pretend I am, even if, with practice and time, I could be. I mean, how will we ever get to know each other, our exquisite faultlines, our unique jury-rigged attempts at survival, if we're taking refuge behind some flimsy wall we've thrown up until we 'make it'?

 

No, petals. It's okay not to know. It's okay to be unsure how it will all unfold, how you'll get there, if you'll get there. It's okay to embrace uncertainty and it's okay to talk about your uncertainty. We don't need to be ashamed by our so-called weaknesses, because they are part of the beauty of our own topography. Without them, we have no direction, no contour, just miles and miles of ceaseless horizon. 

 

 

 

 

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