identity

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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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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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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She Undresses.

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Still, layered in perfume she is not yet naked before you. She undresses but she does not leave herself unclothed. It is beyond silk and lace, beyond what the skin wears and beyond costume of the day. There are symbols and stories painted on her body in scars and ink; some of them you know but others you have not listened to yet.

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To Trust and Not Fear.

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You can trust yourself until you make a mistake, until your intuition fails you. Until you realise maybe you can’t be trusted to choose wisely who to be vulnerable with. And this, the hardest thing to learn: trust doesn’t look like hope – hope is an altogether different thing.

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Travelling Spaces

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I discover myself, at the end of the silent-not silence and the travelling spaces; still myself. A storyteller. A poetry-lover, wanderer and mystical romantic. A hopeful idealist, pragmatic optimist. I am home; in my skin and my places. “He should write her a letter to tell her he is sitting in an airport on his way home and he is not thinking about how the meeting went or whether he thinks Rob will close the deal. No, he is simply thinking of her and whether he has done enough to keep her love this month, because he worries so that his absence is too much and too often.”

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To The Woman Unfinished.

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To the woman, unfinished but not incomplete. To you who has loved and lost, chased hope and given up only to have no choice but to try again. Who in finding wisdom has come to know loneliness. You have wandered down the dark alleys and enjoyed the danger there. You are more remarkable than anyone knows – precisely because of how much you let them see, when there is still an ocean beneath the surface of the sea.

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I Am The Jealous Type.

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I can hardly breathe when she’s in the room. I’m overwhelmed with a sense of envy and admiration for this woman. She is phenomenal. She is loved – loved so hard, and by so many. I’m envious of how I imagine she is loved. Most importantly, she has earned the goodwill of those whom I admire where I have not. I am average beside her. I know the truth of my failings. I know the difference between my aspirations and my reality.

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