Several selves contributed to this week’s endeavors. Each day, a different one shared their voice. The first day was anger. The second day was sadness. Today, there is more space. Each version is important. And this is the stuff.
First, my anger wrote:
How many times have we become kinder when the thing is about to be over?
How many times have we become braver, knowing that we wouldn't have to sustain the bravery of being vulnerable beyond this moment?
What is that? Why do we wait. Why do we find it untenable to be honest all the way through? And then, just when it's about to be over, we give it our all - we throw caution to the wind, we have this "last chance", this "defining moment" to share all, be all and be true.
What. a. bunch. of. malarky. Hogwash. And stupid protective BS that only prevents us from connecting and shedding a layer of our precious egos. Ugh.
Second, my sadness wrote:
I was angry when I wrote that and mostly angry because most endings are quiet. Silent little things that don't do the thing itself justice. One last breath and the soft closing of a door.
I have a lot of tears for this. I intend to cry every single. last. one. of. them. And I am crying all of the tears that are worthy of this thing. And I will cry until I'm done crying.
I couldn't look at you yesterday. I wanted to pick a fight with you and you knew it and you just kept going, gently along.
Finally, my space wrote: