All week I’ve been thinking about how people are complicated and contradictory. A person can be a mass murderer and an excellent dog parent. A man can beat his wife and act meek at work. A woman can preach love and kindness and be sharp and cutting with her inner circle. Instead of trying to puzzle out which side is the “real them,” my perspective is it’s all them.
Walt Whitman speaks to this in one of his poems when he writes, “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)” In therapy, this contradiction is recognized via the modality “Internal Family Systems,” also known as parts work. The traditional form of IFS categorizes the various parts of a person into three roles:
- Managers, who seek to control surroundings, manage emotions, and navigate tasks in daily life.
- Exiles, or parts that hold hurt, fear, and shame that are tucked away and hidden from conscious awareness.
- Firefighters, who seek to inhibit difficult emotions by any means necessary such as addiction.
Personally, I find those categories too limiting. For instance, I’ve done a lot of trauma and recovery work so the parts of me that hold hurt, fear, and shame are not exiled – they are seen, heard, and accepted. Regardless, what I appreciate about parts work is it recognizes how complex humans are – that we contradict ourselves and act in surprising ways. And instead of focusing on one part or another part, IFS emphasizes embracing all of it. IFS says the part of you that flies into a rage is just as much you as the part that weeps over a sunset. It’s ALL you.
We are everything. Photo by Austin Neill on Unsplash
Our society very much likes polarization and black-and-white thinking. “This person is a monster! This person is a saint! This thing is good! This thing is bad!” But that’s not true. Reality is nuanced. People are nuanced. You can be a little bit right and a little bit wrong AT THE SAME TIME! Baffling, right? But it’s true.
This is something I appreciate about my spiritual tradition – it emphasizes embracing everything. It doesn’t say this thing is an expression of an infinite loving consciousness but that thing is not. It doesn’t say, “You’re only allowed to feel happy and peaceful all the time.” No, my spiritual tradition says, “You’re human, you have instincts and emotions and we want you to feel those too. We want you to recognize those parts of you are also sacred and holy.”
Gorgeous, right? We practice viewing everything as sacred with something called madhuvidyá, which literally means “honey knowledge.” It’s a sort of magic wand that transforms your thinking when done well. My spiritual teacher says, “This madhuvidyá will pervade your exterior and interior with … [ecstasy] and will permanently alleviate all your afflictions. Then the ferocious jaws of [degeneration] cannot come and devour you. The glory of one and only one benign entity will shine forth to you from one and all objects.”
The practice of madhuvidyá says even this thing I don’t like or perhaps even hate is an expression of an infinite loving consciousness. Practicing madhuvidyá means I’m able to see beyond the surface of people, places, and things to witness their true form. I recognize everything is Brahma, Cosmic Consciousness, Source, the Universe, whatever name you have for it. And just as the universe is vast, complicated, and contradictory, people are too. As a reflection of Cosmic Consciousness, we contain multitudes.
I dream of a world where we understand people are not one way or another. A world where we recognize people have parts of themselves that get expressed at different times. A world where instead of thinking one part is real and another is false, we understand that all of it is true. A world where we remember that as reflections of Cosmic Consciousness, we contain multitudes.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I watched a reality TV show where every single contestant wanted to boot off one guy. He was inept, mooched off other people, annoyed everyone, and was consistently in the bottom two. I kept waiting for him to be eliminated but he wasn’t. That guy won the whole competition. It felt like such a fluke and reminded me of two sports stories.
In 2002 at the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics, speed skater Steven Bradbury lagged behind the other skaters by a large degree and was nowhere near placing in the top three. Then at the final lap, all of the top-four skaters crashed into one another. That let Bradbury literally glide into first place.
He went from dead last to winning the gold on a fluke. What happened to Bradbury was so incredible that his name has become an idiom. When someone stumbles their way into first place or success, it’s called, “Doing a Bradbury.”
Sometimes winning is about “luck.” Photo by Brands&People on Unsplash
The other sports story is Eric Moussambani’s from the 2000 Summer Olympics. He hails from Equatorial Guinea and entered the Olympics via a wild card. He had never seen an Olympic-sized swimming pool before the day of his heat and trained mostly in a lake. He swam the slowest time in Olympic history during his 100 m freestyle but he still won because both of his competitors were disqualified due to false starts. He didn’t advance to the next round but set a new personal best and a national record for his country.
All of these stories run counter to a popular narrative: That you only win and succeed if you’re the best. That’s not to discount Bradbury or Moussambani because they were Olympic athletes. Bradbury spent 14 years speed skating and suffered a life-threatening accident and a broken neck two years before his gold medal. Moussambani trained for hours and hours in a lake. Neither of these men were couch potatoes who walked off the street to compete in the Olympics. The reality TV show guy, well, he’s a different story. And yet with all of these men, something beyond their personal will and determination led to their victories.
Was it a fluke? Or was it something else? My spiritual teacher says there are no coincidences. Things don’t just “happen.” He says, “For each and every incident there is some cause.” We may or may not know the cause, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. He gives the example of an earthquake. Perhaps a huge stone took 10 million years to move from one place to another, but when it fell, the action took only a few seconds and caused the earth to shake. The cause took 10 million years to come to fruition but there was a cause for the earthquake.
When I witness these stories of “flukes,” “chance encounters,” and “luck,” I’m reminded if something is meant to be, it will happen. If it’s the Cosmic will, nothing can stop it. As someone who perpetually worries about the future, I take comfort in remembering what’s meant for me will not run past me – even if it seems the odds aren’t in my favor.
I dream of a world where we remember miracles happen all the time. A world where we understand there are no coincidences. A world where we recognize what is meant to happen to us, will. A world where we revel in supposed flukes, seeing them for the magical way the Divine Beloved enacts its will.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
As I’ve continued to process the devastation in North Carolina from the hurricane, what occurred to me is love is here, too. It’s the people who are helpers, but it’s more than that. Love is all around, holding us in good times and bad. It reminds me of an experience I had in 2017 when I had a vision of sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor and saw my spiritual teacher there with me. It inspired a poem:
I am there too
In the darkness and the mourning,
I am there too
In the somber and the despairing,
I am there too
In the heavy and the hopeless,
I am there too
I am there, with you
In the deepest depths and the lowest lows,
I am there, with you
Not one minute alone
Not one minute by yourself
I’m with you always
I am your truest Self
In my spiritual tradition, we say the Divine Beloved is everywhere and everything. There is no separation. The Divine is love and fear, light and dark. It’s not possible for some things to be God and others not to be because everything, everything is made of God-stuff. I get a reminder that love is everywhere every day. If you follow me on Instagram, you already know that I see hearts or the word love every day even if I don’t necessarily take a picture. For instance, on Friday, a teenager sat in front of me and what was shaved into their hair? A heart of course. I asked permission to take a photo but they either didn’t hear me or ignored me so that is a picture I don’t have.
I had literally hundreds of pictures to choose from but this one seemed the most appropriate. Photo taken by me.
Why do I see hearts every day? Number one because I look for them but number two it’s because I think the Divine Beloved wants to remind me and anyone who knows me that love. is. here. Love is always here. Love is holding us, cradling us, taking care of us in happy times, in sad times, in celebration, and sorrow.
There is nowhere we can go that love is not. That is why hell doesn’t exist in my spiritual tradition. My teacher said, “[S]piritual aspirants should never be unnecessarily worried about heaven and hell. If one does noble deeds or sings spiritual songs in hell, it is the bounden duty of the Lord of hell to be there, too, and thus it automatically ceases to be a hell. You can transform a hell into a heaven.”
We transform any hell into heaven by remembering the existence of love. That’s not to make light of hellish things, nor to encourage spiritual bypassing but once we process our feelings, can we remember a greater truth? Can we remember that love is here too?
I dream of a world where we feel our feelings and also understand the Divine Beloved is with us through thick and thin. A world where we realize love isn’t confined to happy and joyous places but also in the muck. A world where we realize no matter what is happening, love is here, too.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
It’s been heartbreaking for me to witness the news coming out of western North Carolina. I spent ages 6 to 12 just outside of Marshall and as an adult, many of my friends moved to the area and I’ve visited them. I’ve walked the streets that buckled under pressure from flooding. I’ve shopped at the businesses that no longer exist. Luckily everyone I know is safe but many of the people they know are not. Some families were literally washed away and drowned in a river that rose two stories.
The whole thing is tragic and I’ve cried many tears about it. All of that is true. But what’s also true is that quote from Fred Rogers who said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”
That’s happening in North Carolina. Volunteers are leading mules loaded with supplies into areas impassable by cars. The nonprofit BeLoved Asheville took 40 caravans of essential supplies in one day to areas where it was needed. An organization I’m connected to, Amurtel, is digging out homes, donating supplies, and providing hot meals. And then there are the smaller stories. The ones of neighbors letting people shower at their homes, charge their phones, or store their food because without electricity it will all spoil. There are helpers everywhere.
Helpers are everywhere. Photo by Marlis Trio Akbar on Unsplash
I’m getting choked up just thinking about it because it’s so touching. Often a natural disaster brings out the best in people. There’s a true spirit of coming together and helping one another. It reminds me of an African proverb I love that says, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” Exactly. At times like these, people enact that principle. They understand something my spiritual teacher says:
“One must not forget that collective welfare lies in individuals and individual welfare lies in collectivity. Without ensuring individual comforts through the proper provision of food, light, air, accommodation, and medical treatment, the welfare of the collective body can never be achieved. One will have to promote individual welfare motivated by the spirit of promoting collective welfare.”
Collective welfare is what we’re seeing in North Carolina right now. People who have more are giving to those who have less. Individuals and organizations are focused on meeting people’s basic needs. There are numerous helpers who you’ll likely not hear about on the news but they’re out there if you look for them.
I dream of a world where we hold the complexity of natural disasters. A world where we grieve all that happens while also recognizing the beauty and generosity that can come from them. A world where we understand that collective welfare lies in individuals and individual welfare lies in collectivity. A world where we not only look for the helpers but also become them.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Related to my post from last week about accepting the mystery is a Sanskrit word: liilá. What we don’t understand, what we can’t explain, is called liilá but the more literal translation is divine play or sport. My spiritual teacher says, “The numerous ways in which the divine game of [Cosmic Consciousness] is being played is simply beyond human imagination.”
So often I don’t think of life as a game, I think of it as a race. I’m trying to keep up with my peers and make it to the finish line as fast as possible so I can get my medal. But that’s not what we’re doing here – we’re playing. The distinction is important because as my friend Sohail Inayatullah demonstrates in his work of causal layered analysis, the myths and metaphors we carry are what deeply impact how we move through the world and thus our futures.
Sohail isn’t the only one to talk about the power of myths and stories, of course. You don’t have to be an academic or a therapist to know this is true. You likely have some experience with it yourself, either directly or indirectly. You probably know someone who thinks everyone is out to get them and they filter out all the ways people show up selflessly because it doesn’t fit with their worldview. You likely also know someone who thinks everything works out for them and it does.
It’s all just a dance. Photo by Ahmad Odeh on Unsplash
To get back to the metaphor of life as a game, what I like about it is that means things aren’t so serious. There’s less at stake. Not getting that promotion is no longer the massive deal it seems to be and instead similar to drawing a bad card and waiting for your turn to draw another one. Things are terrible now but just wait until you roll the dice again and move ahead three spaces. I don’t want to make light of the crappy things that happen in the world, of which there are many, but there’s a way to deal with the drama without it turning into a huge existential crisis.
Related to the concept of life as a game is something else my spiritual teacher said, which is, “Each and every created entity – whether crude, subtle, or causal – is vibrational and rhythmic. … The collective rhythms of all the rhythms emanating every moment from the countless objects of the cosmic imagination is called ‘universal rhythm.’”
My interpretation is everything has a rhythm – us included – and if that’s true, what if life isn’t only a game but a dance? Sometimes the dance is slow, other times it’s fast. Sometimes it’s partnered, or in a group, or solo. Some people sit out to catch their breath before joining but the dance continues. As my life continues to unfold, there’s something soothing about thinking I’m a part of a game and I’m not supposed to know what will happen next. Nor do I know what song will play next because I’m not the Cosmic DJ – I’m a dancer.
I dream of a world where we realize life isn’t a race but rather a game. A world where we remember the twists and turns is what makes the whole thing interesting. A world where we understand everything has a rhythm, us included. A world where we realize the music is constantly changing and that’s OK because we’re all over here dancing with the divine.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I want to know everything and if I could know it in advance, that would be great. As a journalist, this trait serves me – it drives me to keep asking questions and to understand whatever I’m writing about. In life though, well, I’m sure you can guess how this plays out, especially when life is doing its thing, i.e., being unpredictable and mysterious. For instance, I spent two months talking to a retreat site about renting their space at the end of the year and then all of a sudden, they said, “It’s not available.” They didn’t tell me why, give me a heads up that someone else was interested, nothing. Just, “Sorry, it’s not available but we hope to rent to you in the near future.” Um, thanks?
Many years ago, I spoke with a friend about this topic and he reminded me that the essential nature of our relationship to Higher Power is one of mystery. He likened it to being on a train where only Higher Power knows the destination. I think I know where we’re going as we crest hills and drop into valleys — I formulate an idea, but then the train keeps moving, so no, I don’t have a clue. Also, the more I try to understand, to know, and to control, the rougher my relationship with Higher Power is, and the rougher things are in the external world. The more I can let go and be OK with the mystery of life, the less I’m affected by curveballs and plans going awry. To be clear, I’m not unaffected just less affected.
If life were actually like a train then I’d know where I’m going. Photo by Josh Nezon on Unsplash
In the case of the retreat site, I screamed a little, punched a few pillows, worked out with weights, and then reminded myself that Higher Power always has a better plan than I do, even if it takes me a while to learn that. However, it’s also true that some things will always be a mystery – I’ll never get an answer, and by seeking one, I only drive myself crazy.
Accepting the mystery is something my spiritual teacher advocates. He says that Cosmic Consciousness has been “creating this unique, colorful world with His various powers. Why He is doing so is known to Him alone; no one else knows it. … It is a fact that human beings with their limited intellect can never understand the secrets of why and how [God] has been creating this universe; their wisdom can never fathom this mystery.”
Instead of trying to puzzle everything out, my teacher says, “You should think, ‘My little intellect cannot fathom all this – rather let me do one thing, let me establish a relation of sweet love with Him. When this relation of love is established, He will be my own, and I will know His inner secret; I will certainly find the answers to all the questions of ‘why.’”
I don’t know if I’ll finally know the answers to all my questions, but it certainly beats what I’ve been doing, which is hypothesizing, ruminating, and just generally overthinking. I still want to know why about everything, but what I’m coming to accept is my limited intellect is just that: limited. What helps me with the limitation is realizing life is a mystery and will remain a mystery. People are mysteries. Certain occurrences are mysteries. I can’t know everything the moment I want to so the best I can do is let go and keep developing a loving relationship with myself and with my Higher Power. And maybe one day I’ll eventually get the answers I seek.
I dream of a world where we remember we won’t always understand the things we want to understand. A world where we accept that life will perpetually throw us curveballs. A world where we remember our perspectives are limited and all we can do is continue to work on our relationship with the Great Self. A world where we accept the mysteries of life.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
When I take a zoomed-out perspective on my life since the start of the year, I notice numerous endings that led to beginnings that led to endings. There has been so much upheaval in practically every area of my life – health, finances, relationships, and where I live. It reminds me of a story from Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ Women Who Run With the Wolves.
The one that speaks to this dynamic is the Skeleton Woman. Click the link for an animated rendering of the story, but the abbreviated version is a fisherman hooks a skeleton woman and not realizing she is caught on his line, tries to run from her. He bumps along the land with the woman on his tail and dives into his hovel thinking he’s safe. Alas, it is not so. She is inside his home, limbs akimbo.
In the candlelight he takes pity on her, untangling her from his line, righting her limbs. Then he falls asleep and a tear leaks from the corner of his eye, which the Skeleton Woman drinks up thirstily. While he’s still sleeping, she pulls out his heart, holds it in her hand and flesh is drummed back onto her bones. She becomes a human again. She returns his heart and then falls asleep next to him, and “that is how they awakened, wrapped one around the other, tangled from their night, in another way now, a good and lasting way.”
A sunrise follows every sunset. Photo by Óscar Dejean on Unsplash
Estés asserts for any relationship to survive and thrive, people must reckon with Lady Death, which the Skeleton Woman represents. They must welcome her into their home, tend to her, and make peace with her in order to breathe life into something new. I think the principle applies not only to relationships but all things. We must make peace with the fact a beginning will have an ending, followed by another beginning. I’m getting better at remembering that but it’s still hard. When I experience an ending, some part of me tries to hold on, to make it be what it was. But an ending always clears the way for something new.
A concrete example is I’ve made a bunch of new friends because many of my old friendships have withered or died. Instead of looking at the tattered remains of what was, I’ve started cultivating new friendships with people who make time for me. I’m profoundly grateful and as a result, I’m doing some cool and interesting things I wouldn’t have before like singing in a one-day choir.
The more I give into and accept the life/death/life cycle, the more serene I feel. The less scared I am of the future and what could happen because I understand death will always bring a beginning and then an ending and then another beginning. And that’s true for everyone.
I dream of a world where we embrace Lady Death. A world where we no longer fear death as something permanent and final, but instead see it as the precursor to something new. A world where we mourn, we grieve, and we accept we’ll always have to confront death in some form or fashion. But it doesn’t have to be as scary as we are led to believe because an ending is always followed by a beginning.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Lately, I keep thinking about how I give my power away. A couple of years ago, I had an astrological reading and the person told me I would likely move in March, April, or May of this year. Starting in January, I was so nervous I would have to move unexpectedly because I wasn’t making enough money to move into the sort of place I want to live. (Nor do I feel pulled to move out of the Bay Area where the cost of living is lower.) I worried I’d find mold or a meteor would hit my house, or some other catastrophe would befall me that necessitated a move.
You know what happened instead? I spent more time out of my house and in other people’s homes either locally or because I was traveling. In that way, I did have more space but not because I moved. Yet I spent nearly six months worrying about it because I gave too much weight to something a random astrologer said. (For the record, this is why I like archetypal astrology because it’s not predictive and instead presents ends of a spectrum.) It’s not only astrologers that I imbue with too much power, it’s almost anyone in a position of authority. My therapist can make the most off-handed comment like, “It will be a fun June,” and I’ll latch onto it like she said the Gospel truth.
Call your power back from all dimensions of time and space. Photo by Miguel Bruna on Unsplash
That’s a real example and I mention it because parts of June were fun but parts of June were terrible. My inner kid was so confused because she really thought June would just be fun because of that one comment from my therapist. The issue is I keep making other people omniscient and omnipotent because I’m not remembering the answers are inside me. I don’t know everything, I can’t predict what will happen six months from now, but my body tells me things.
In July, I was super nervous to meet up with some new friends, which didn’t make sense because I don’t get social anxiety. I kept feeling like I’d meet someone or run into someone with a romantic component to it but I wasn’t excited about the meeting. Lo and behold, I ran into an ex that I hadn’t seen or spoken to in seven years. I share this not to demonstrate my psychic prowess but to emphasize that I don’t need to perpetually ask other people to tell me about my life. My body tells me about my life. Spirits tell me about my life. My higher power tells me about my life.
I am a powerful person in my own right and you are too, which I think is important to remember. In my spiritual tradition, we say that every person is a reflection of the Cosmic Consciousness. We are all mirrors, showing the same image but some mirrors are more warped, dirty, and pockmarked than others. Meditation is an act of polishing that mirror so the Cosmic Consciousness can be more clearly reflected. What I’m doing when I give my power away is wandering around, wondering if your mirror is cleaner than mine. It would be far more fruitful if I focused on my own mirror. In that way, I would take back my power.
I dream of a world where we understand other people are people, just like us. A world where we stop imbuing other humans with magical powers. A world where we remember we can trust ourselves and listen to the wisdom of our bodies. A world where instead of giving our power away, we take our power back.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
It’s funny that the title of this post is “It Can Be Gentle” when this week has been anything but. It wasn’t quite a Murphy’s Law week where everything that could go wrong did, but everything that could veer off course before redirecting did. For instance, my computer lost the first draft of this blog, checks are delayed, and oh yeah, I’ve had a searing headache for 48 hours which has literally never happened to me before.
When things in my life go awry, I want to exert force and make. them. better. I am the opposite of gentle, which for the record means quiet, docile, and soft. I am the person who screamed at the top of her lungs “Eff you!” when my family’s rental car window was bashed in a couple of years ago. I don’t need a microphone to be heard in the back of a room. What I’m saying is gentleness doesn’t come naturally to me unless I’m dealing with small children or animals. When it comes to the default way I treat myself, it’s not gentle.
So cute! So gentle! Photo by Anya Chernik on Unsplash
It’s probably for this reason that my first eating disorder sponsor repeatedly asked me, “How can you be gentle with yourself?” I hated when he asked me that because I didn’t want to be gentle! Gentleness was too slow and I wanted results immediately! At this point you might be thinking, “Yeah but remember the tortoise and the hare? You can win a race if you’re slow and steady.” However, I’d argue even slow and steady is not the same thing as gentle.
The advice when it comes to writing is that you should do it every day. “Make space for the muse to emerge,” and all that. We glorify consistency but is that really gentle? There are some days I can’t work on my novel, or rather, I choose not to because I’m overtired or I have a headache or my brain isn’t functioning. The “slow and steady” method would tell me to write for five minutes anyway. The gentle method would say, “It’s OK to take a break.”
I don’t always believe that. I feel guilty when I don’t write but there’s wisdom in the question from my first sponsor because not being gentle with myself is how I wound up in recovery for compulsive eating and exercising. Not being gentle with myself was a recipe for burnout, resentment, and frankly, misery. I’ve had enough misery and there’s always something to be miserable about but I’d rather not fan that flame. My last couple of posts have been about happiness because that’s what I want for myself and others. I want us to be happy not because we stumbled into Shangri-La but because we’re taking care of ourselves and each other. In a culture that lionizes force, let’s instead be gentle.
I dream of a world where we remember there’s a place for gentleness. A world where we understand slow and steady isn’t the same as gentleness. A world where we let ourselves take breaks when we need them without guilt. A world where we treat ourselves with care and remember it can be gentle.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Growing up on Disney fairytales and romantic comedies, a part of me has longed for the “happily ever after.” The time of life when everything is set, all your troubles are behind you, and you get to revel in the good. I haven’t surveyed every human, but I’m pretty sure this is a common response. However, like I wrote about last week, happiness is a behavior, not a time or place. And part of that behavior is being grateful for what is.
Some dear friends of mine moved here recently and I’m approaching their arrival differently. In years past, I would have craved constancy and spun out into a “happily ever after” where they would be here forever, but now I know better. As much as I want to be “best friends for life” with someone, to have people in my life forever, that’s not how the world works. People that I thought I’d socialize with in my 90s, I’ve had to let go of. People I was super close to once upon a time know nothing about my life these days. Instead of being bitter about it, I’m accepting it. This is reality.
If you slow down and look, I bet you’ll find some things to be grateful for. Photo by Rodolfo Mari on Unsplash
Gratitude fits in because I’m grateful for what I’m currently experiencing, not what I think I’ll be experiencing. I’m beyond thrilled my friends are here and I’ll enjoy our time together while it lasts precisely because I know it won’t. They’ll move away or our lives will change. Something will happen, that’s inevitable, but also OK.
Psychology professor Robert Emmons says:
“[G]ratitude makes us appreciate the value of something, and when we appreciate the value of something, we extract more benefits from it; we’re less likely to take it for granted. . . . In effect, I think gratitude allows us to participate more in life. We notice the positives more, and that magnifies the pleasures you get from life. Instead of adapting to goodness, we celebrate goodness.”
I’m participating more in my current life and appreciating what I already have. The life that isn’t a fairytale, the one where I don’t have everything I could ever wish for. The life that keeps changing because we can’t press pause. In this life, I’m grateful for friends new and old. I’m grateful for the multiple communities I’m a part of. I’m grateful both my parents are still alive. I’m grateful for my nieces and nephews – the ones I’m related to by blood and the ones I’m not. I’m grateful for the cozy, safe, quiet apartment I live in. I’m grateful for flowers and sunshine and birds. I’m grateful I know what it means to feel joy and that I’m no longer trying to capture it because I recognize as much as I’d like to hold on to happy emotions, I cannot. I’m grateful I have so many things to be grateful for.
I dream of a world where we understand there is no happily ever after. A world where we remember happiness is a behavior, not a place or time. A world where we understand that we can magnify our life’s pleasures by feeling grateful for what is.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.