A friend once told me she envied my ability to dream, and to remember these stories after waking. At the time I didn’t think this was much of a gift. I was dreaming in fearful fragments—odd parabolic universes that threatened to undo me during what should have been my respite from an equally upsetting life.
I came out on social media the other day. I didn’t plan it—didn’t even think coming out was necessary for me.
I can feel the strings between us tugging—stretching—unraveling. This awful and endless taffy pull I chose isn’t sweet most of the time. It sticks like a bone in my throat.
As the Buddhists say, each moment is a birth, a life, and a decay into the next. (If the Buddhists don’t actually say something along these lines, they should… because that is how it freaking is.)
I consider myself a bit of a beauty glutton. It’s important to me that my view be gorgeous—if not exactly the view from my house then at least the view when I get in my car and drive somewhere nearby to bask in nature’s best.
There is nothing like a big decision to bring you face to face with yourself. The big decisions… the ones that rock the paradigm…
According to Google only a completely flat piece of mirrored glass will show you “what you really look like.”
Whatever the hell that means.
“Give, even if you only have a little.” – The Buddha … Though we may feel lost, weakened, and left with little, we can give.
I’ve been a liar all my life. It started in childhood when I learned that I could tell stories to get what I wanted. And to conceal who I was from the world.
I believed marriage would be the blueprint for my years and that it would give me the babies, the houses, the shared beds and car payments and memories that come with being together this way.
