the year of letting go, of understanding loss.
of the word ‘no’ and also being able to say ‘you are not kind’.
the year of humanity/humility.
when the whole world couldn’t get out of bed.
everyone i’ve met this year, says the same thing ‘you are so easy to be around,
how do you do that?’.
the year i broke open and dug out all the rot with my own hands.
the year i learnt small talk.
and how to smile at strangers.
the year i understood that i am my best when i reach out and ask ‘do you want to be my friend?’.
the year of sugar, everywhere. softness. sweetness.
the year of being alone, and learning how much i like it.
the year of hugging people i don’t know, because i want to know them.
the year i made peace
I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us.
We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand.
We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well.
Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know – unless it be to share our laughter.
We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide.
Most of all we love and want to be loved.
We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.
for lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful.
It is for those who are too gentle to live among wolves.
Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.
There are days when it feels futile. When our dogged efforts to persevere leave us exhausted and wanting more results. Hopeless. There is no immediate gratification for our daily battles. Only baby steps; an easier morning, an authentic laugh, a number that doesn’t matter anymore. But, those things aren’t tangible enough sometimes to power through the pain and anxiety, signing up for more challenges when the current ones haven’t been overcome.
We yearn for time to freeze just long enough to rest, and breathe, and heal. To pop our brains right off for a day of clarity and emancipation. They haven’t invented this type of procedure yet.
A wise woman once asked me – is this something that you are, or something that you do? I have a feeling it’s the latter, and I am grateful for that.
It’s true, some people stop pushing forward. Maybe they believe they have reached the end. Maybe they have grown too tired keep fighting. Either way, they live chronically, with one foot in this world and one in another. Fear keeps me moving.
There will always be a tomorrow. We need to stay hungry for it.
I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast,
I am alone in the night.
Been tryin’ hard not to get in trouble, but I,
I’ve got a war in my mind.
I just ride.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m fucking crazy.
I’m tired of driving ’til I see stars in my eyes.
I look up to keep myself sane, baby.
Too much I strive, I just ride.