I have found myself running into the girl I used to be lately. You may think that must mean some carefree version of myself, untethered by serious adult themes but that would not be the case.
I’ve definitely gotten younger as I’ve gotten older.
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I have been practicing being strong with my least strong part. My weakest part. I map its boundaries, feel out it’s yes and no and then try to push past… I’m learning a big lesson right now, I think. About fighting. I love to fight—fight for what’s right—or better—fight to BE right. Uno mas, por favor. ENOUGH. We could all use a kingmaker. That influencer who initiates or completes action for our benefit. The muscle who ensures that things get done for us. You are a puzzle, my friend, a fascinating puzzle. You are one surprise after another, just like those crazy Russian nesting dolls. You’ve been clever and intricate with how you’ve bound up that heart of yours. Truth is so persistent. It fights like an animal in a trap–and it always finds a way to get free. There’s a soft center spot, a place where things have not fully come together, a sort of hazy Bermuda Triangle where change insists you shed something old and pick up something new. Things don’t always go right. You’re not the only one this happens to. I hate the way it feels—the gaff I make, the thing I wish I’d said instead, the action I meant to take but didn’t. |
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