Patience, Timing, Constant, Silence

Patience, Timing, Constant, Silence


Sitting on a corner couch at the coffee shop. There are pieces of me in a word document and on the short necklace around my neck. I smile. Here’s to coming home.

Sitting on the kitchen island right by the sink. Looking out the window and there’s just quiet around me, quiet outside, quiet inside. I smile. Here’s to more moments of that kind of peace.

Sitting on the three person couch, feeling like three people, all in one. Who am I, what do I want, how do I navigate the gaps, where do I start with love. I smile. Here’s to more moments with questions that lead to home and family and a constant.

Sitting on a barstool. Shoes clearly anchored on the bottom rung. I swig the drink around — listen, we’ve come far, haven’t we? I smile. Here’s to more drinks, more time sitting with good eyes, more feeling like we are worthy of belonging.

It takes breaking, I’m convinced. It takes setting boundaries, I’m certain. It takes anchoring your self-worth in something bigger than yourself to understand how to walk into love freely and without all the lies we tell ourselves. It takes a certain kind of love to pull you in until you’re not face first against a wall, you’re face first against a chest and holy shit.

There’s a surrender that has to happen before that moment and usually it doesn’t happen in conversation with others, it happens in conversations with ourselves. Have you ever daydreamed about someone? Why are we so vehemently against daydreaming about the ways it could work out, but adamantly attached to supporting narratives of all the ways it could fail?

I’ve been on both sides and it’s better on the side where you surrender to nights with beers and kisses you tip-toe for. There’s more release in patience than there is in anxiety. There’s more to be anchored to in the quiet than there is when filling the room with loud lies and enemies at your table.

Lately, I find myself sitting in bathtubs incredibly aware of how me changing on the inside has changed how I view my body. I’m stronger, physically and mentally, than I think I ever knew myself to be. It’s why I’m not afraid to navigate through love’s darker days. It’s easy to give myself what I want and what I know is best for me because when I look at how I curve under water, there’s nothing about life that was meant to be straight and narrow. There’s nothing about love, of one’s self or of other’s, that is meant to be clean cut. We cut. We leave open wounds in places where pieces of hearts used to be. Then, we heal. Ourselves. Each other.

Then we love through and again.

It’s the cycle of life and of love. We show up because the alternative is cutting ourselves at the root, shooting ourselves in the foot, and every other cliche that speaks to hurting ourselves when we could just love ourselves by really loving...ourselves...others.

Sometimes that love looks like years in the making, sometimes it’s a matter of minutes. Sometimes it’s waiting someone out, sometimes it’s moving on and challenging them to be a better person and catch up. Most of the time it comes back to knowing yourself and your heart.

Why are we so willing to champion each other but so resistant to understanding that we are worthy of love that really sees us and not just love that sees us through a lens of its choosing?

Eyes wide open. It’s how I’m loving lately. With lips parted, hands on hips, and feelings on sleeves. I’m inviting life in because I don’t understand the purpose of our lives without being anchored in love.

I choose to live life through love because the world is going to rain on us no matter what, I may as well be in good company while it does. 

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