We finally made it outside in the scorching heat and I felt at home.
The only difference between you and the successful version of yourself you dream about is the effort involved. Successful-dream-you has been rejected tons, but they just carried on anyway. And carrying on doesn’t have to mean being doing yoga and working full-time whilst working on side-projects and having a great social life.
Why share? Why? Why type your life out and click a button, waiting for people to read? I don’t know. But I know that when I do write, the fog lifts a little.
This last week has been a quiet blur of autumn leaves, frustration, and pancakes.
“And you’ve already lost all side mobility in that ankle. That’s gone.”
Laying in a hospital bed, high on morphine, I stared at a surgeon who was explaining to me in no uncertain terms that I had FUCKED UP.
I just wanted to check in with you all, and let you know I’m still here, and yes, I’m a little depressed but I’m fully functioning and not in any danger of disappearing anytime soon.
When you told me
“I’m on your team”
I believed that
You would not leave, and
I keep reminding myself
that you are the real deal, and
could stick around.