Keep that stale loaf away from me

As I waited at the edge of Santa Monica Blvd, for the little white figure across the street to tell me I could cross, a thought flitted across my mind, a thought about my writing, or lack thereof recently.

I don’t have anything to say.

I don’t have anything interesting to share.

And even as that thought came into existence, I knew how bullshit that was.

Really, Grace?

Nothing?

Not even the confrontation and reconciliation of my mom and my paternal gramma over things that happened almost 30 years ago?

Not even the meeting and melding of minds with humans that feel like family after not even meeting them in person?

Not even the business venture you’ve embarked on, trying something you’ve never thought you’d want to try?

Not even the amazing AMAZING Women’s Council meeting you facilitated last weekend? Not even what’s possible with this Council?

Not even the personal learnings of a lifetime that are stirring within, nudging you to evolve your standard of being and living?

Not even earning your first dollar from sharing your gift and talent in healing?

Not even…?

Nothing?

Nada?

Lol. That shut me up real quick.

Ever have that feeling?

That feeling like you’re not good enough?

That feeling like you’re too behind? It’s too late? You’re never going to make it anyway?

That feeling like you’re a piece of shit and why bother?

That the passion you once felt for something was probably a load of bullshit conjured up by delusion and pointless dreaming?

That the life you want to create is just beyond, over there, at the end of that rainbow, where everyone else seems to have reached – everyone but you?

Ever feel like that?

I did. And I still do sometimes.

Except now, I laugh. I laugh at my teeny little mind trying wiggle its way to certainty, to “solid ground”, to safety.

I laugh at all the little ways that I try to play small, show up discreetly, or not at all.

I laugh that once, those thoughts and feelings felt true.

And I ate them up. I ate them all up. Like they were breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And all the snacks in between.

I breathed that shit like my life depended on it.

And then, when I felt emaciated enough, starving enough, wasting away enough, I finally accepted my invitation to the Banquet of Life.

The Banquet of Love, Hope, Dreams, Courage, Purpose, Abundance, Manifestating Desire.

I entered the hall and saw the buffet of infinite pure Life that I am, that I’m created and designed to live and know and be.

And I could no longer go back to that stale ass bread of limitations, safety, fading away, fear, doubt, and worthlessness.

Why? Why eat shitty when perfectly satisfying life-giving abundance is available to you at no cost but your willingness to say Yes to yourself?

So, no, Grace, you don’t have nothing to say. You don’t have nothing to share.

You have a goddamn universe inside of you, a song that’s swelling up within, a depth with which you don’t have to do anything but to explore at your pace, and bring into the world when you’re ready.

You are supported more than you know. So just chill the F out. Cross that street, and every bridge that comes up and every street that comes up. Because you have everything you need to keep going, to do this MF life.

Anything else is a lie. A stale loaf of bread.

Go. Go go go go go.

Fly.

Soar.

Be you, all of you.