I’ve been reading a lot of Seth Godin recently. His outside-the-box thinking really appeals to me, and never ceases to offer new perspective. On page 44 of “Poke The Box,” he writes this, “I’m not sure Yoda was right when he said, ‘Do or do not, there is no try.’ Yes there is a try. Try is the opposite of hiding.” This really got me thinking about how we hide from our responsibilities and our potential everyday by brushing things off and not trying them. It’s also challenged me to become more aware of the choices I’m actually making when I decide not to try something. Is it my subconscious running from fear? What metrics am I measuring the costs-benefits by? But Yoda wasn’t wrong either (of course). We often hide behind the idea of trying. The trick here is to reevaluate your definition and interpretation of the word “trying.”
The relationship that you’re in right now—if you knew it wasn’t going to last, if you knew it had an expiration date, would it make you want to love deeper and fall harder or would you leave in search of another story?
How many lives do writers live in one story?
Some people live every moment they get, some live as many lives as they can, and some don’t even realize that they have a life. I remember after my sister and I wrote our first novel together, someone asked us to summarize it in one sentence. We answered, “A pair of sisters—one destined to live out her life, and the other, to outlive her life.” How do you live your life? At the end of your life, could you be said to have lived at all? If so, when?
Thoughts inspired by Nikita Gill’s “Take This As Your Sign.”
Inspired byNayyirah Waheed’s words, “I am relieved when I see the feminine presence in a man’s eyes. hat means he is a peace I do not need to bring to him.”
These words remind me of a silly pattern I’ve been spotting at weddings. You’ll often hear in a groom’s vows, “I love how much love she has.” As beautiful as it is (and appropriate for the occasion), so often men see women as their source of love and nurture.
For the men out there, are you looking to your partner to teach and remind you how to love yourself, to love the world, to love life? Please remember that we’re learning too, and we don’t have the answers, and we’re not responsible for your love journey. For the women out there giving every ounce of your love to your partner, it’s important to remember that the love we emit is a deep reflection of our relationship with ourselves. We can’t love someone into loving themselves. Your love journey is entirely your own, and so is theirs. Doesn’t mean you can’t share self-love, self-care, and inner beauty secrets, of course! :)
And for both parties out there, you only accept the love you’re ready for. Your partner can love you with all of his/her heart and soul, and carry all the love in the world, but you will only feel the extent to which you’re ready for.
This obviously doesn’t mean that women have more love, or are capable of more love than men are. Truth is, some of the people I know who carry the greatest capacity for love are men.
Isn’t it beautiful, terrifyingly beautiful, that happiness isn’t a reminder, but an allowance? That unlike joy, the choice of happiness isn’t decided in the moment, but invited long before that. That wherever you are in life, when you’re ready, at your own pace…you make this decision, a promise to accept happiness. And how it transforms everything you see, everything you do, everything you feel, everything you are.
Isn’t it terrifyingly beautiful that maybe our decision to invite happiness into our lives is the closest thing that exists to fate?
Fill your lungs with morning air and hold the universe inside you. Breathe in the first rays of the sun and awaken the force within.
A reminder that every experience and encounter since the moment of your birth has been leading up to today, to this moment. Take a second, take it in.
Continuity is not a theory; it actually exists, so I’ve reassured myself over two fleeting decades of animation. This single quest for clarity, especially within romantic endeavors, has dragged with such muffled mercy to the soul that my faith in such continuum has fallen inferior to what others deem fantasy. And again, I propose the question: Is a flow in progress self-sustainable?
I don’t know the secret to continuity, but in some untrodden region of my consciousness, I recognize that I won’t secure it in Keats or Shakespeare. And whether through the sirens of heaven or the indolence of hell, continuity has entertained my mind with only an exquisite spirit of inquiry. But today I stand, embowered in my own awakened and flickering eyes, upon a first glimpse of this concept so fine in texture.
Continuity in romance is not about imagining a future with someone, but about not envisioning one without them. It’s not about wandering the celestial paradise or the depths of hell, but about journeying back and forth without losing sight of that one person. And it’s not about uniting by the hand, but by the density of each footstep and pace of each breath. Lastly, it’s not about him/her being the one; it’s about the two of you becoming one.
Within his voice, I have found the therapeutic value of harmonic rhythms found only in music, and within his eyes, the enchantment of vibrating colors emitted only through light. And within his soul. I have begun to digest the manifesting expression of eternity concealed within true love.
Morning coffee shop thoughts. Or perhaps rushing out of one realm and falling into another? If you are falling, may you be falling into the clouds of a beautiful universe.
This morning, a friend shared with me a story about his lovely morning adventure. My first instinct was to say, "Ah, that's incredible, I'm wildly envious!" But what I truly meant was, "Wow, you're beautiful. I'm deeply inspired by your story."
I think oftentimes, we focus on what others have that we don't, and it brings us to a place of comparison rather than unity. In these moments, we're faced with a choice; we can either feel envy or inspiration. I promise you they're equally powerful.
A few years, I found a soul friend. He didn't know me, and I didn't know much about him. He was a star and I lived across the globe. But at our cores, he and I were made of something of the same substance.
A few days ago, I found out he has passed away from a possible suicide. That soul-throbbing emptiness, I have felt before.
You know the days when you look up at the stars and instantly feel your worries fade? Is it possible that we, as beings, are connected to the substance of another star?
And one day, we look up and feel a dreadful emptiness and a hint of guilt. With no previous understanding that we ever connected with that one star, and no knowledge that the star is no longer there. Still we sit there, consumed by emptiness, feeling so whole and so empty, so big and so small, so ancient and so naive at the same time.
I can't help but think that if only he knew I existed, that he had a soul friend, that we would both feel a little more whole right now. And this is why I do this.