i feel like i’m coming back to something.
idk exactly what.
but actually, i feel like i’m always coming back to something.
seems like the freaking theme of my life.
i think i tried to make my writing about ‘something’.
i think i wanted to be known for ‘something’.
i think i wanted to be and do something ‘consistently’.
i think i wanted to make myself about writing, about productivity, about contribution.
i think i wanted to ‘create’ something for the sake of having created something.
all this thinking
makes Grace a dull girl lol.
i think i got caught up in the art, in the writing, in the creating, that i forgot to get caught up in me.
i forgot that without me, there is no art, no creativity, no path, no nothing.
without me, i am nothing.
that’s a funny statement.
quite obvious, no?
without me, i am nothing.
also sounds very dramatic hahah.
i am dramatic.
back to what i was saying.
i feel like i’ve been trying to be something.
and living in that trying, i didn’t want to do anything.
so i didn’t.
didn’t write, didn’t post much, share much, etc.
although i very much wanted to.
and i still may not lol.
but i feel like i was missing a big piece.
and as i come home to myself again (and again and again and again)
i realize, i just don’t give a fuck.
such a nice feeling.
what don’t i give a fuck about?
i don’t know where to start.
but i think i just don’t give a fuck about giving a fuck.
i’ve already known, for so long – so long that it makes me laugh at myself – that nothing matters.
i’ve heard a good friend say, ‘nothing matters and everything is important.’
i 100% agree.
i simply was living lopsided, on the side of ‘everything is important’,
also, the side of ‘live intentionally’
and ‘do something good with your life’.
etc etc etc.
and it just doesn’t matter.
i am not here to do good or be good.
i am here to do me
just as you are here to do you
and, in that, inherently, it is good.
not just good,
but like damn good.
i feel like i sound angry or harsh or cold or something.
cynical – that’s the word i’m looking for.
perhaps there’s more to unpack here for me.
and also, perhaps not.
perhaps this is enough.
perhaps everything is enough.
as it is.
perhaps i live my life the way i want,
say what i want,
do what i want.
which i feel like i’ve been doing more than ever in my entire freaking life.
but i think i didn’t fully trust it.
because i felt like there was a greater path, a greater purpose, a greater ____________ that i was missing
by a very long shot.
a very long one.
which is hilarious, because, honestly, i feel like i’m one of few people that actually get it.
get what life is about,
get how to life,
get how to be,
get how to love,
get how to evolve, breathe, thrive…
and here i have been, shitting on myself all the day long.
caring so much about… nothing.
so many fucks had been given.
so many fucks have been stuck in my throat,
caught in my windpipe,
i keep coming back home.
i keep coming home to me.
to trusting myself
to knowing that i know myself,
to knowing that what i know in this moment is enough,
to knowing that i don’t know and what i don’t know will not kill me
because i am and have been continually expanding expanding expanding
because the unknown continues to make itself known to me with each breath, each quiet moment.
the knowing and unknowing are seamless,
a fluid dance,
a moment where an inhale becomes and exhale,
where an exhale becomes an inhale.
i felt, for a while, that i was defined by what i don’t know,
which is why, i think i spent so much time believing and living from a place where i felt like i need to know, i need to know what i’m missing, i need to resolve, heal, release it – whatever it is.
even though, i knew that i knew that i knew that i knew… that i knew.
just, that i knew some things.
and it was on these things that i based my life,
my inner ways.
and i could very Very VERY clearly see, experience, point to the results of the person i’d become and was becoming,
all the freedom, the natural growth, expansion, etc.
and yet, it wasn’t enough to rest on.
it never seemed quite enough to just… be.
and so, i thought i had to present something to the world,
be of service,
blah blah blah.
here, now, i feel more comfortable in saying,
i am of service of the world.
ex-act-ly as i am,
is service to the world.
isn’t it so simple?
i feel like anyone reading this would be like, duh, Grace.
but it’s coming to me,
little by little by little.
and i’m coming to it.
i like the way i live my life.
now i want to trust it.
i think maybe i feel cold and hard about this because i feel like i’ve been fooling myself and i’m perhaps slightly annoyed with myself.
32 years of life
32 years of coming home
32 years of endless learning
32 years of me
as my years increase, may my number of fucks continue to decline.
i wish the same for you, if that is something you desire and choose 🙂