I am a big believer in coming as you are: torn edges, ripped seams, tear-stained cheeks. Those close to me know that chitchat doesn't fly with me. I want the nitty gritty. The to-the-bones stuff. Bring it, and some whiskey or whipped-cream-flavored vodka, and tell me your secret wishes, your dreams, your fears.
Let's dig in and dig ourselves out.
I really loathe small talk. Talk to me about your passions, about your creative projects.
Tell me what you are grieving, what you hate.
Show me yours. I'll show you mine — wounds. scars. healed spots that are still red & swollen. That's the good stuff. The stuff that helps me know your soul.
Pausing here for a minute to breathe. Will you breathe with me?
I feel as though my muscles are strained from holding up the world, the grief, the madness. my shoulders ache. I wonder if what I do in this world is enough, is even worth it. That is what I wonder when I'm feeling defeated.
What is the point?
And almost in the same breath, I hear in my head
THE POINT IS TO LIVE.
To be yourself in that moment.
PS: I'm blogging along with Effy Wild in April. If you'd like to join the facebook group to read the rules, go here: