Culture & Ideas

In My Opinion, With Love

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For most of my teens and twenties, I made a reputation for myself as opinionated. The world has a way of disqualifying the young from being able to lead thought revolution. We craft the skills to communicate well long before we have anything to say. But now I think I have something to say, at last.

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A Theology of Rain.

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I wanted to be raw and vulnerable again, I wanted to be exposed. Inside, I felt the storm was inside me and the best I could do was surrender to the storm that was falling down on me. If you watch and wait, the clouds will gather and cover the sun. The rains will come then go and the light will emerge again.

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How You Recognise The Life You’re Meant To Live.

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Brave is not all of me, but it is a significant part. And when she said it, I recognised myself in a dozen different instances from age 4 to 19 years old. The brave girl who has learned to say what she thinks.
That’s how you know you’re recognising it – because your instinct is to lean into the spaces your True Self fills. And the more of your True Self you lean into, the more of your False Self you fall out of. You recognise your life sometimes before you know you have it; reaching effortlessly for the pieces that belong. The places and the people that fit just so into your puzzle pieces and before you can blink, you are living and fully alive.

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Anticipation Sickness.

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This combination of hope and anxiety can be crippling. And that’s anticipation sickness. Knowing the risk you take to hope at all, knowing what losing hope will feel like, how our way of seeing the world will be again challenged. It’s the fear and anxiety that overshadows joy. Hope is not a joyful feeling – hope is the gut-wrenching, white-knuckled sigh of the heartbroken, brave and vulnerable to look up, to say ‘Okay, let’s go again.’

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An Exchange of Words

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I would write you a letter, with ink and pen on thick paper that feels good in your hands. I’d like to leave the weight of my words with you, a deep impression on the page. I’d make a roadmap of words from here to tomorrow, to guide us til we arrive. I’m searching for words to tell you in advance how sorry I am for the small things I’ve ruined by asking too much or when I couldn’t give you enough. You homeward bound and me, reaching for you. Laid out in lines on a page full of humour, sorrow and life.

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I Was A Dancer, Once.

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By now, you should know this is both a true story about dance and a metaphor. I am a paradox of confidence and innocence, sometimes imagining more quickly than I can learn and sometimes learning more than I can practice. But there are a few things I know to be true.

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What Happens Sometimes In A Bar.

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If you want to build resilience, visit a bar. There are things that sometimes happen in a bar that will make you strong. He looked at the woman to my left and the woman on my right and said ‘You two are amazing girls.’ His pronunciation pointed in a direction anywhere but me.

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