Afternoon Magic

One of my most favorite things in this world (and oh, I have so many favorites!) is watching dust lazily drift, dance, and whirl in sunbeams. It is enchanting. There is such magic in this, a quiet, intimate moment so lovely I could cry.

Telling My Story: Part II

My story.

It's not pretty or eloquent or melancholically desirable. It's also not so tragic as many things in this world. Countless individuals endure tremendous suffering in their lives, and I know that my experiences are not nearly as horrific or heartbreaking as, sadly, so many in this world are.

No. But it is my story. It is incredibly important to me – it has affected nearly every part of my life, my development, my relationships with others, my view of myself, and my perspective of the world.

And I share it with you now. (Read Part I here.)

I beg you, sweet readers, to be gentle. Here I am baring myself to you, heart and soul, in the most terrifyingly vulnerable and fragile way. Be gentle. I have closed comments for this post, but if you would like to write me I would love to hear from you. You can contact me either here – it can be anonymous, but do leave your email address if you'd like a response – or email me at mypeacetree2 (at) gmail.com. If you have nothing kind to say, please quietly continue with your day and refrain from sharing your thoughts.

A small note: I have included a "jump break" in this post; this means that if you do not want or are not prepared to read a story about heartbreak, damaging mind games, emotional abuse, and depression, please skip this post and find other material to read for the day. If you are willing, please click "read more" below.

Let Go

I realized today that it has been ten days since my last post. And I remind myself yet again: be gentle. It  is more than okay to be just exactly as I am, quirky and imperfect. Outside my window, into the rolling thunder and dancing lightning, I offer my guilt, however significant or unnecessary, for all the to-dos that remain un-done, posts not yet finished, dishes not yet washed, paintings and projects still twirling in my imagination, and emails not yet returned.

Guilt – that constant and whispering nagging – about the little things, expectations from others, and unrealistic expectations of ourselves, is poisonous. Release it into the wind. Always do your best, my love, but be gentle with yourself in evaluating what indeed that means; be aware of expectations of perfection disguised in motivation.

My to-do list will be there tomorrow, and with the dawn comes a brand new opportunity to complete it as best I can. And so, as I prepare myself for bed tonight, I reflect not on guilt but on all that I am grateful for: this breathtakingly magnificent world, wide open with possibility; my sweet, full life; and the beauty of a thunderstorm.