nobody likes a bitch

She views things much differently than I do is what I said. I thought little of my statement in the moment. And then my analyzer kicked in, hours later perhaps, and I realized the ubiquitous difference between what I uttered and what I actually believed. And then I knew I had to write it out.

I had to write it out because I needed to understand myself; I needed to understand what was flooding through my brain and stealing me away from me and delivering meh to myself. Writing is the vehicle that gifts me my grasp of self  – the self that is too deep to unpack most often – as deep as my soul is willing to delve when thoughts and paper merge.

It is then, and only then, that I am free and alive and flying. Thoughts quicker than pen; feelings thicker than molasses; truth more real than non-fiction.

It is then, and only then, that I feel every sacred inch of my being purr and hum; exist in its own capsule; be steered by nothing other than its own idiosyncrasies.

It is so real it takes my breath away. Forces me to gulp for safety. Defies my plea for the benign.

But I digress, because I came here to talk about what I really meant when my words came out as otherwise, and actually sound kind of bitchy upon rewind. Their purpose was to protect something or someone, though I am unable to define that presently. Or maybe ever. I got so caught up in finding me that I forgot about finding the meaning that I had set out here to do with this prattling piece. My apologies (but I am simultaneously in love with where my writing brain is allowing me to travel right now!).

The interaction that actually elicited the afore-mentioned utterance was but a speck of dust among the whirring particles of every day life. And yet, also, the brevity of that moment carried the weight of judgment being held and shared.

Judgment being held and shared.

And that is what made me sick about myself in those few precious blips of connecting time that I had with my eldest child. Minutes that could have existed of who I believe myself to be were actually snapshots of qualities I do not revere nor care to pass on to my children.

What I am saying is that each and every second absolutely matters. And I thick-black-sharpie scribbled over a field of pastel wildflowers. And I can’t get that moment back to do it the way I intended. The way that is vulnerable and kind.

What I want is to make sure I am sharing all the wonderful and amazing things I believe about our human existence in general – that the world is full of good people if you set your mind to believe that. And strive your best to be one of those people that makes the world a better place. And that it is always better to be kind than be any other way, because nothing will ever take precedence over just pure and blatant kindness. And yes, love is all around; you need only to open your eyes to see its metastasized beauty.

Or watch Love, Actually. 

Truth is, it’s entirely up to you; how you choose to see this world of human existence, that is. It will meet you at the intersection of your choices.

Why not choose love?

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