Writing is my most natural way of digesting life, and there’s a lot of life to be digested. I usually wait to share until what I’m writing about no longer feels like something I’m “in.” I love Brené Brown’s guidance of asking, “Is this a story I’m telling or a story I’m living?” And it’s better to wait for the living part to be finished before telling it.
Read MoreI often have no logical reason for why I make decisions, other than following my heart. Moving to Denmark (again) was one of those radically heart-based decisions. I knew in the core of my bones it was the right move for me to make. And I haven’t been sharing very much about it because it’s been a deeply inward process for me, inviting me to face what it really means to “follow my heart.”
Read MorePeople who have had near-death experiences are gratitude experts because they’ve had a tangible reminder that this life is temporary. No one owes us anything. My entire existence is a gift that was given to me. I love remembering that I’m going to die someday, because it reminds me to take the little worries of life less seriously and the little delights of life more seriously. Having this lighter perspective has only come through facing my own shadows in the process of recovery. It confronted me with every single one of my demons—the aspects of myself I suppressed at all costs, the fears I had of being disliked and abandoned, the feeling of being eternally alone. It put me in a position where I had to choose to either believe the darkness or shine a light on it. Recovery meant deciding to embrace all of myself, accept life on life’s terms, and humbly returns to a state of childlike awe and wonder at the gift that this life is.
Read MoreCertainty holds me down more than anything. As soon as I’m certain of something, it becomes fixed and rigid, which is the opposite of the true flexible and ever-changing nature of things. Impermanence is the only reality.
As soon as I’m convinced that my perspective is forever, it does become forever to me. My certainty is a prison that I build for myself. With a door and a lock and key that I have shackled to myself to, that I wouldn’t dare use, feeling safe here in my cell.
I feel sad when I hear people say “I let myself go,” like it’s a bad thing.
To me, letting myself go means letting myself free. It means unbuttoning my top button and letting my belly hang out, buying comfy clothes, throwing away my scale, painting on the walls.
Letting myself go means letting go of all the rules I’m abiding by that aren’t really me. It means ordering a burrito when I want a burrito, talking to that stranger I’m attracted to, dancing on the fire escape, deleting my diet apps.
