Musings on Love

Today, I’m floating on a cloud. I’m riding the high of just launching my writing blog – the first self-promoted public acknowledgment that I am a writer – and the positivity is flowing out of me.

I feel the familiar energetic buzz, but notice it carries a different quality today. Normally this is the frequency I’m on after a cup of coffee, a little more jittery than my current grounded vibe. The endorphin rush of having taken a tangible step toward a long-held goal is a hell of a sensation. 

It’s softer, the way I navigate my interactions (both internal and external). There’s a self-assuredness to my actions as I feel into the reality that I can figure it out, whatever “it” is. And when I don’t figure it out the first time, I can just try again. 

(Breaking News: Turns out it’s actually okay to make mistakes!)

I speak to the people I love with encouragement and kindness, and I know it comes from a place of having filled my cup already. 

It’s funny, all this seems so simple written down. Of course it’s fine to make mistakes, and everyone knows the “oxygen mask” analogy for self-care – make sure you take care of your needs before tending to others. But this is definitely one of those “great in theory, bad in practice” moments for me. It’s easy to preach and believe these things, but to actually live them requires a lot of effort. 

So of course it happens this way, that the very thing I was scared to embrace is the thing that gives me the ability to hold myself. That giving a voice to my thoughts is trusting that even if my words aren’t for everyone, they’re for me. The idea’s got this witchy crackling energy to it, one that really speaks to my inner Sabrina the Teenage Witch-loving, 12-year-old self.

Being able to sit with these thoughts is like going to an art exhibit where the gallery is all about your inner psyche. It’s so cool to zoom out and see it all, side by side – the desire for acceptance that can only be satisfied by me, the fear that tending to my needs will hurt my loved ones, all the fragments of past events that remind me what failure feels like. It’s humbling in a compassionate way, to see all the things that hold us back. It makes you realize how our beliefs affect our reality. 

I feel emboldened. This just hits different than previous achievements. This one is just for me. It’s for the shy little girl who was always gifted journals, the dark teen whose writing was celebrated by her teacher, the unanchored uni student who poured her heart and soul into countless papers. It feels powerful,  and it feels just like home.