This gift I give myself is getting easier to give.
Doesn't mean that don't I slip up and watch myself try to pretend that it might be OK to go for something that isn't good for me anyway. Now, though, that I've been practicing some, I know I'm watching, and to disappoint the watcher, the observer, well, that's just too much pain to contain anymore. The observer deserves more than that.
And it's different now. I recognize the inappropriate, the unsuitable, the incompatible, the shallow end swimmer. It's a sort of scattered, all-over-the-place feeling I pick up, since their energy isn't focused. It feels like I'm waiting at a bus stop for the connection to show up, and it doesn't. It can't, because it's the wrong street, it's the wrong route, it's the wrong bloody bus company.
It's easier to say, "No, thanks." And mean it.
What makes it even easier to spot is knowing how the exact opposite feels. When that bus arrives, actually just the approach, when you see it coming from a few blocks away, there is confirmation, there is anticipation, there is a letting go. The doors swing open, and there are so many interesting conversations to begin in any given seat. And the destination on the sign above the driver's head--that's just for looks. The possibilities unfold as far and wide as I am able to allow.
And what about that--living large, wide open, full-throttle, inhaling the texture of every day until it hurts so good you cry out in gratitude?
What about that?
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