"But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ." – The Little Prince
When my older sister passed away, after the brief stage of the ego anger/fight for survival, innocence took over. She was not mad about her early parting, she accepted loved ones at her death bed, allowed us to hold her hand.
Being 36, the same age as when she passed, when she had less than two months to live… I wonder what I would do? Or perhaps, not do.
I have often been driven by ego wants and desires. Not that they are necessarily bad (although sometimes destructive). I have wanted to do things, see things, achieve things before I die. I gotten stuck on destinations and forgotten about the journey. And with that, I have experienced many nights breathing in the shallow breaths of yet another existential pain as time all too quickly passes and what once was has already changed. In those labored prayers, I have often overlooked the fact that my ego is simply fighting for its existence, or at least the existence of others in relation to me. I have changed. They have changed. Life has changed. Or worst, life has changed and people/animals have died and while I have stayed the same.
Yet if I knew, if I knew it was my time to die in a few weeks time, I hope I’d forget about all those wants and desires. Instead, I would hope to follow a similar path as my older sister, who seemed to remember what truly mattered. Maybe I’d go to the mountains a few times if I was able with those closest to me, during the times my ego gets scared, to tap into the peace and love that awaits me. But most likely, I’d spend my dwindling time with family and friends, allowing them to say their goodbyes and let love be shared. I’d want to return to innocence, my belief in true magic, joy, and an existence without fear. The purpose of my death being to light the way for others. To come back to the remembrance that when we die, only love is left behind, for that is all that is real, all that is eternal.
I woke up from a dream, or perhaps nightmare is the more accurate word, slightly after 12 am on May 4th.
I was in a war zone. The building we were in was no longer a building, the grey bricks only a few feet high. Sparks, debris, and shrapnel flew freely in.
My mother tried to protect me. She laid her body over mine, a small and slender child. I knew we weren’t safe. That her body, hugging mine, would simply get hit first. It was likely that we would both die. Now or later, I wasn’t sure. At the same time, I felt her love inside the shelter of her body over mine. I felt her desperation, trying to protect her daughter, me. I could tell she knew it was probably hopeless too, but she held onto that sliver of hope. And somehow in that, in her love, I felt safe.
Soldiers walked in over the bricks and through the smoke. And, while I know this is simply how my brain put this together and most likely not how it actually works, they shot at cannons to make them fire off into the distance. They didn’t look at us. Their faces remained ambivalent and frozen. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to protect us, kill us, or just didn’t care. I didn’t know whose side they were on. But that’s kind of how protecter parts work…
*While I’ll use Internal Family Systems language, archetype, identities, etc. can often be interchanged.
It’s kind of hard to see what they’re protecting. Another protector, another defense mechanism, the cynic protecting the anger, the ego, or the exile, the inner child within? I think some, at least the soldiers in my head, just forget. They forget what side they’re on and they just do the job they’ve been programmed to do.
In therapy, we say there are no bad parts. They’ve all learned how to do their job to protect an innocent part when there was no caregiver to protect them or help them feel and experience their emotions, to help the child feel loved even though they were sad, angry, or simply in pain. Even the addictions, even the suicidal thoughts… they’re just trying to protect us from more pain, trying to. make us feel better when we don’t know any other way. Every shadow side has a light side. The inner critic, a cheerleader. The judge, a compassionate leader. On the spiritual side, some teachers and texts simply teach to notice but not attach to the (unhealthy) ego and all its voices of fear. We might not be able to stop the thoughts, but we don’t have to give them our energy (power). When we practice this long enough, the voices of shame, guilt, unworthiness, and hate get quieter, giving us a chance to notice the subtle but ever-present voice of Love.
And so, to further our dream interpretation, I’ll provide a framework. I was taught dream interpretation as a graduate student at Naropa University by Katie Asmus, one of the leaders in the field of wilderness therapy and owner of the Somatic Nature Therapy Institute. She taught me and my cohort that in dreams, a part of us is represented in each person, animal, or even object that stands out. In this view, dreams are symbolic, offering us views into parts of ourselves that are often subconscious in everyday life. I also believe that in dreams, especially nightmares, our psyches are actually helping us play out and process fears so we don’t have to in waking hours. I will add that, even though it’s often hard for me to see, I’ve heard from multiple people that I am often guarded and protective. I rarely see how my fears play out (the voice of it can sound very rational) until after everything (ie, a relationship) has been destroyed.
During the dream, I felt most of my presence in the little girl. My innocence, my unbridled love and joy for the world and other people, was being threatened. And yet…
Stepping into the role of mother, I feel (moving into first person here) a deep, fierce love for the child curled under me. Yet I am also human, so I try to regulate my nervous system, hoping my child doesn’t feel my fear. I know she is a sensitive child, so even if she feels my fear, let her know that she is loved… A sacrificial love, willing to do anything to keep the innocent child alive. But even if we both die, she must know that she is loved. And that will be all that matters.
The soldiers I have, in part, already examined. Yet stepping into their shoes, I feel lifeless. I’m just doing what I’m told, having forgotten what I’m fighting for. I gently sense the presence of the mother and little girl, but I try not to see them. It might make me crack. So I fire bombs. Bombs at other men, who are most likely just like me. I am hopeless. I don’t care if I get hit anymore or die in this war. I’m tired. I just want the war to end.
The cannons and bombs, perhaps, represent my anger. The anger that I actually rarely feel, besides the shame and self-loathing I feel for myself. Maybe I should let it out a little more. Maybe I should defend the little girl. She doesn’t deserve to live in a gray world full of shadows. Blowing things up might not be the answer, but fighting for Love? I’m not sure exactly what that means. How do you fight for Love with Love? Without killing and without dying? But maybe, maybe there is a way…
Ah, I won’t let the darkness of the mind kill the light within.I will protect her from the voices of fear and attack thoughts in her head.This is the Mother’s role.
The almost non-existent building… God, I hope this is my mind. My ego. The structure I’ve created around myself is crumbling. It’s never really protected me anyway. It’s never kept the fear or sadness out. It’s really only made me hate myself and be scared of the world I walk in, the world I’ve made. The walls were always a false sense of protection anyway.
Now that I look back…
The mother and daughter…the fierce loving protector and the innocent child. They are covered in dust and ash. Yet they are otherwise left untouched. But maybe it doesn’t matter, because that little girl knew she was loved. And love is the ultimate protection. She rises.
My dad worked as an electrical engineer at the same place for nearly 50 years. Actually, at 71, he still works part time at that company. The job definitely plays well to his analytical brain, but I would never call being an engineer his purpose.
His family titles probably give more insight into his purpose. He’s known as the “toy guy” and the “car guy.” He’s always got toys for the little ones in the family…and toys for himself. He probably has well over 1,000 Matchbox cars in his collection, plus minions and disney characters throughout his house. He’s also the guy everyone calls…whether it me, my cousins, or his brother and sisters and in-laws…for car help. It might be advice on what needs to be fixed, how to get it fixed cheaper, him fixing it, or he’ll lend you a car for as long as you need it. Actually, multiple family members have driven a car first owned by my dad. My dad is the guy who wanted to go to Harry Potter world for his 62nd birthday, and we’re already planning on Disney World/Galaxy’s Edge trip after he turns 72. He’s the dad who still reminds me and Sandi to remember our “happy thoughts” and sends us “unbirthday cards.” My dad has been through a lot of loss in his life, and the joy he still finds is my inspiration as I try to rise above my own darkness.
Part of his purpose comes through his own wounds. While he loves re-telling stories of gathering a group of friends for a baseball game, my dad had a paper route before he was double-digits and quickly became a caretaker for his younger siblings when his own dad had a stroke and later passed away.
His childlike wonder reignites the flame of those who have forgotten theirs. He is a protector that keeps his family safe. He is a Wizard among those who have forgotten their magic. That is his purpose.
Thinking of my dad’s purpose has helped me discover my own.
I might still say that “I help people remember who they are”, or ” I help people become free”, but more simply, I help people feel safe to express their emotions, be who they are, and feel loved. Sure, I did pick a career where I can do that for a living (and it certainly blossomed from my own wounds) but what I have chosen to do really doesn’t matter because I am the embodiment of my own purpose.
I have been on the search for freedom for nearly my whole life, intensely for the past two years, with a balanced measure of both dedication and desperation.
Yet I live in a privileged country, am of white ethnicity ,pretty enough, able-bodied, and grew up solidly middle class. I’ve also been somewhat rebellious in conforming to societal norms.
So why did I feel so trapped, like a bird in a cage? Or like the elk I saw with a fishing net trapped in his antlers? Or the cows I see trapped behind wired fences that surely aren’t there for their safety?
Last summer, I read an Instagram post that said “You can’t find freedom in the same place twice*.” I simultaneously felt a resonance with the message and with an internal “fuck.” Again I had been going to the mountains to find freedom and to my dog for happiness, with a painful Achilles heel that said “You can’t keep going to what’s outside of you to experience what’s within.” The gateways to the experiences you want to have are not the experience themselves. I had caged myself in the wide open, and trapped the being I love the most. Pacer is meant to be my teacher and the Love I am guardian of, not a need to fill what I feel I lack.
But of course, when going on any inner journey with a destination “in mind” (freedom), contrast is usually first experienced. I had to come face to face with all the things that held me down, that kept me from flying: my thoughts, my past, all my old beliefs that cause anxiety, depression, grief, and deep fear. The scariest thing about going into those depths is feeling the impossibility of getting out. It wasn’t long ago that I tearfully told a friend, “I feel so trapped.” I write about this so openly and vulnerably now because I believe this is the dark side of the human experience.
While this part of my journey isn’t quite over, I sense perhaps a shift. A shift in perception. A slight release. A willingness to see and choose differently. It’s taken journaling, meditation, shadow work, allowing life to reveal to me what’s unconscious, tracking my emotions, parts work, friends, books (rec: A Course in Miracles) an almost constant stream of positive messages through podcasts and channelers, and holding on to the belief that “only love is real.” I look forward to recounting my journey as hopefully a guide for others to become (remember) free too.
The most freeing words I ever uttered were “I quit”.
I quit all the things that no longer serve me. I quit putting myself into hard situations and difficult positions. I quit the adventures that are dangerous to my life and light. I quit the plans and outcomes I created in my head. I quit the relationships that are mentally and emotionally abusive. I quit all the paths that are out of alignment with my heart. I quit the jobs and trainings that I’ve forced myself to sit through thinking they would be “good experience for me to have” even though I loathed sitting in the chair. I quit accepting treatment that is below my worth. I quit placing my needs in second place. I quit control. I quit the ways I block myself from love. Most importantly, I quit the thinking that I just need to be tougher. That I need to force and push myself through pain. I quit the physical abuse I’ve inflicted upon myself. I quit beating myself up for all the mistakes I made and think I made. I quit bullying myself for all the times I failed. I quit taking on the shame whenever I do quit, whenever I do what is best for me.
I quit. I quit. I quit.
***
At age 18, I have the words “Never Quit” tattooed on my body. This sealed the shell of my ego, my tough exterior, the chest the closed me and everyone else off to my treasures, my emotions, my softness, and my love. I’d stay stuck for on and off for almost another 18 years.
My ego, while divided into many parts, was mainly fabricated by fear to protect me from what I thought was love. But the ego doesn’t know love. “Never quit” strengthened my resolve that I was tough, independent, and didn’t need anyone else. I could always keeping doing, always keep pushing, I could never stop..
…and by never stopping, I never had to see what I was burying. I thought it was me that loved to push and keeping going, and I do really, really love playing outside, but it was my ego that held the secret from me. The secret that if I always kept running, it was It who would get stronger, while I would continually disappear into the night.
It was “I quit” that set me free. Painful as it was to unravel from layer and layer of fake skins.
A few months ago, I was riding my bike on weathered dirt roads. I spotted a glimmer and hopped off my bike. It was a key. Not just one of the copies you get made at the hardware store. This one was decorate as if old-fashioned. As if it was the key to something special.
I’ve held the key to my own treasure chest. I’ve peaked into my soul and slowly let parts of it escape and be seen. Sometimes I still close it and lock it at night. But I know hold the key. The lid, I feel, is almost ready to be thrown up, the chest turned upside down, never to lock away the treasure again.
Does anyone else get confused when someone asks, “How do you do?”, or “How are you?”, “How was your day?”
To an on looker, it would appear that I freeze for a moment, a moment too long. It’s why most would say I’m quiet, while I pause, debating if I should say what’s on my mind or how I’ve been trained to respond, with an “I’m good” or “fine.”
What I really want to say…
No, maybe it’s too much…
But maybe not…
In my head I’m wondering…
Do I tell them about all the ideas running through my mind and about all the stories I want to write? Or maybe I should tell them about the white horse I watched running through the field from my window. And the cat! Oh, how I laughed, because it was not our field cat that I saw sneak out of the shed, not the one who’s food was inside. Maybe I say that? Or what about all the things I felt? The deep love I felt while watching Pacer nap. My delight in once again ending up at Brenda’s register at Natural Grocers and how, even though she can have a tough exterior, that I find so much joy in giving her the space to smile. Maybe how I felt it in my body when the sun moved behind the clouds? Or do I reveal the tears I cried watching Good Grief? …WhichI mainly viewed because I like Daniel Levy, and thinking that maybe because I knew the plot from the preview, I wouldn’t cry. Do I say how I teared up watching Alice in Wonderland too, because it made me understand myself and my purpose a little more? And the cows! How, as I rode my bike past, I wished my soulful friends a good day, pedaling away before they could sense the fear and sadness I felt about their futures. Is that too much? Ah! Maybe I talk about the snowflakes. How, in the reflection of the morning sun, I became mesmerized as I traversed up slopes of sparkles that took me Somewhere Else. Or the love… the love I felt, the love I released, and maybe the love I found. That reminds me of…can I say it? The guy I once dated, just a few precious times but felt our energies intertwine. How he told me I spoke too elusively, like I was keeping a secret, not understanding that ethereal is my native tongue? And maybe if he tried to, we wouldn’t have grown so far apart?
Or, maybe I talk about the fear I felt before I could catch the thought that caused it. Then I can describe, to help shift their energy as well as mine, how all my fears became forgotten, how they just melted away, like Frosty on a sunny day returning Home, while watching another sunset. How I once again got lost in the beauty of it all, and in the lostness was my expanse. Or do I talk about the deer, who greeted me and Pacer soon after the sun said goodnight? How I know they are my spirit animals, always protecting me and turning me towards my own spiritual self. Maybe, maybe, I just say “It was a magical day.”
But by then, just a few seconds after processing this all, all I see is a shoulder and the back of head. My time has passed. The stranger is still a stranger. I say a quick “I’m good”, as we both continue down our different paths.
Yet now, now at 35 and years of inner work, I still feel okay rather than overlooked. I’m grateful for my courage to diverge from the normal way. I know there are others like me, who crave depth and run from superficiality. At heart, I actually think that’s what we all want, the neurodivergent and those who are not. We aren’t meant to all be strangers. We are meant to connect. To see ourselves in one another, a soul behind a face. And no, it doesn’t mean I have to leave my solo nature and animal time behind. I can still be an introvert and wish for depth that can be shared, harmonizing the two.
I’m still a little awkward at it, being me. But I am freer than I ever was.
Beauty Pain: Waking up to the knowledge that life is both beautiful and fragile. It’s seeing the hate and fear, but realizing there is even greater love. It’s the awe and the tears encompassed in the breaths, the limited breaths that mark our beginning and our end, while watching a golden-pink sunset. It’s what you feel both in watching a new life enter the world and a life surrender to death. It’s the lifespan of a dog. It’s the bittersweet feeling of a holiday party full of loved ones- full of love-comes to an end. Its the overwhelming gratitude when a once met friend pays me 8x the amount my book is worth. It’s my sobs seeing god in everyone and everything, even when others do not, and the most innocent being killed. It’s forgotten love. It is the acknowledgement of feeling. It is the acceptance of being human.
So many of us spend so much time rushing and worrying that we miss the beauty of what surrounds us, be it the people, animals, or nature, only to later realize that our time on Mother Earth is limited…which makes life all the more beautiful.
It’s hard to use words to define the term “beauty pain.” Perhaps I described it better in past posts that more so provoked the feeling rather than tried to define it:
Still, I think my older sister said it best in her journal, the few words she wrote in her dying year: “Life is beautiful…even when it’s not.”
Each time I come back to this term, I come to understand what it means to be alive a little more. I come to more deeply know myself.
“What if your ability to feel pain is the most beautiful thing about you?” I scribbled in my journal.
What if?
What if my biggest weakness is actually by biggest strength… my capacity to love? It is in my heightened senses, the depth of my emotions, that makes me so human and so alive. And yet, I feel and have felt so deeply that I have tried to numb my pain and attempted to reject my humanness, claiming my want to leave this planet, with doG (Pacer) always grounding me back.
Maybe it’s because I grew up in the midwest to baby boomer parents, loving but mostly unemotional (outwardly), that I learned to deny pain, thereby rejecting myself. Showing emotions wasn’t really accepted in my family. My mom got laughed at (with me as one of the perpetrators) for crying during a movie. No one was there to tell me that my depth was my power.
Eventually, I learned to carry and hide so much that I learned to fear it, to fear my pain. Honestly, I thought it might kill me if I let myself feel it all.
Yet, maybe…
Maybe I don’t have to fear pain, because pain is just love. Maybe it’s sometimes wrapped in a cloak of fear or tinged with sadness, but it is still love. And maybe my pain, my love, is my gift to the world, because my pain carries my light. In fact, pain is a big part of the reason I chose to practice psychotherapy (what I know call “psychosoul therapy). I didn’t want others to have to feel what I felt. Now I know they both do and they don’t… They just have to accept their pain, because their pain is love and shines a light on “wrongness”, the wrongdoings created from darkness. The worst part of pain is actually resisting feeling it.
(However, I can lessen my pain. Here I realize I’ve used the word “pain” in different ways in my blog – thank you for giving me the space and grace to process and shift. Sometimes, what I mean is really “distress” or “suffering”. What has helped me a great deal is learning to check in with myself when my emotions feel heavy and then bring awareness to the thought I’m thinking. Usually, my thought is far, far away from love. Additionally, I’ve learned to “tap in, tap out”, a great skill for any empath. It’s an amazing gift to tap into someone else’s shoes, but it is neither helpful for the empath or the other person to get stuck in the other person’s energy field. Switching to compassion helps me help others.)
It is my pain that makes me mortal and it has been my fear of pain, my resistance to it, that has kept me from Love. It is Love that makes me immortal. When I resist pain, I resist both my humanity and my divinity. When I accept my pain, when I accept my beauty pain, I accept my humanity and my divinity.
This doesn’t mean we will all start hearing the voices of our angels or guides*, because when we’re in joy, we don’t need to. There aren’t any problems to ask about or find our way out of. We’re simply matching the vibration of higher realms, and that’s enough. It is the energy that speaks.
*Some of us may, but more likely, you’ll feel closer to deceased loved ones.
The days I get to spend out in nature, moving my body, with Pacer and family are the joy triple whammies for me. My worries go away. I truly feel like I have everything I need. Nothing more could make me happier. I both feel loved and I feel great love for others, be it humans, animals, or trees. Joy is the magic that brings me to that place…the place inside myself where I am fulfilled and at peace.
It doesn’t make me ignorant or blind to the pain of the world (I am an empath, afterall), but I can see it without my energy getting drawn in, or rather, down. Which ultimately, is a much better space to think and create from.
And in my heart, I know everything is going to be alright. That I am alright. That we are alright.
Joy comes from our inner being. It’s when the heart feels expanded and the mind quiets. It grows in play, connection, creative endeavors, and exploration. (If you’re like me and have an “inner Josh, or “inner gaslighter”, do be a little careful of doing things that you feel “should” bring you joy). There’s definitely no fear involved in joy. Joy and love aren’t exactly the same, but doing things that bring forth your joy definitely leads you to love.
So, if we “do” anything, we “should do” what brings us joy. In a world still partially cloaked in darkness and in dire need of more light, it is of the utmost importance, to our inner selves and the lives of everyone on this planet.
If we can still love those who left us, who broke our hearts, who moved away, and who passed on, does that not prove love’s infinite existence?
The greatest act of love I have ever witnessed is watching my parents saying goodbye to their eldest daughter. My older sister had spent a long two years fighting cancer, and when it came to the point where she was clearly closer to Somewhere Else than here on earth as well as looking more peaceful than she had in weeks, they didn’t say, “You’re my daughter. You are supposed to outlive me. You have to keep fighting, because I need you.” (Let me be clear, I do not judge anyone who has said that to a loved one on their “deathbed”.) No. Instead they said. ”We love you. We don’t want you to be in pain. You don’t have to hold on anymore. You can go.” And while my sister did hang out until after my dad’s birthday (I know that was her choice) and I believe my parents, as well as my twin sister and I, releasing our attachment to her physical presence, is why she was able to pass peacefully in her sleep a night later. Letting go was an act of unconditional love.
When she died, all that was left was love.
Personally, my greatest fear (I don’t think I’ve ever admitted this before), is losing my* dog. (Well, her and my twin sister.) To be honest, I’ve never been sure I could survive it. And there is something inherently beautiful and almost innocent** in that, that my greatest fear is in losing unconditional love. Specifically, the embodied presence of unconditional love that has been almost constantly by my side for over a decade now. While I still hold onto the hope of her living to 20 (not unheard of for an Aussie), I can only free both me and her by accepting that in most cases, a dog’s lifetime is significantly shorter than their humans. (Maybe this is because dog’s are already so close to God/Love and as furry angels, are more helpers to humans wanting to evolve.) And, even though Pacer is still happy to have some big adventures with me in the mountains, I also have to admit that she prefers snuggle time and getting doted on by her aunt and uncle even more. I’m so grateful, too, because she already physically thrives beyond other pups. So, when the time comes the most loving thing I can do for Pacer is let her go back Home. Of course, if she is ever sick, I’lI do anything I can to help her heal. But I don’t want her to have to stick around because I need her and I’m lost without her. Because that wouldn’t be love on my part, that would be fear.
*Again, this word “my” is part of the problem…the possession of another being that is also not actually separate from us. **Innocence predates fear. It is love without fear. My feeling comes from more of a child who recently lost her innocence.
Could I…will I…be able to survive that? Love will always survive it.
In truth, I know energy doesn’t die… especially an energy like Pacer’s (this is the first law of energy). I know that part of Pacer’s purpose in coming to earth was to remind me of the love that always surrounds me and that is within me. I’m usually just too blind, too unwilling, to see it. I also absolutely know she will always be with me. I truly believe we’ve always been together in some way. It’s the fear and lie of absence that always gets me. That and the amount of pain I know my body is capable of feeling. Really, I’m not sure how the skin around my 5’4 frame has survived the amount of pain I’ve held on to in the past. Yet I know I can hold more love then I have yet tested, because of all the times I’ve allowed pain to break me open. All I can really do right now is keep seeing the fear and loving it, not away, but anyway… that and snuggling with Pacer.
Love is the only force that can survive death. In death, only love will remain.
*Note: Because we are human, it is essential that we love ourselves when in pain. In doing that, we can also realize that pain is an occurrence that happens when we feel separated (by our minds) from Love.
I never thought I would be “smart enough” to understand the matrix, cyclical time, or quantum physics…yet here I am:
We can’t change the past. The past was a moment in time of material creation that our soul called in for us to experience, either to heal or for joy. Since then, the material, or matter, has changed. Plus, if we physically changed the past, we wouldn’t be existing in the same way we are now, nor do we understand how intricately our lives our connected with others. Personally, I like that I get to write to you right now and express my thoughts in this way… I’m grateful to each person who led me to this moment. So no, as much as we wish we had a time machine to go change what our ego minds would like to call “mistakes”, we can’t (and really, mistakes are just redirections). Where the past does exist is in our minds and it is in our minds that we have the choice and the power to shift how see (perspective) and feel about the past…this may seem miniscule, but this is huge!
Personally, I like to throw love at any pain. It’s easy to do with friends who are in pain, so my suggestion is to step out of the past memory and see it from an outside angle (or lens of spirit). If you were scared, angry, or in pain, can you now see yourself with love? Or, you can imagine inserting your higher self (or inner parent) in the memory, holding yourself through the challenging time?
Now here’s the really cool part…when we insert love into a painful memory, not only do we see it differently…but we see it clearly. (Fear often presents as a veil of illusion that obscures clarity). You might see why the event had to occur as it did, or you might see the lesson you can now apply in the present…and, if the memory was about a decision you felt torn about and feared you made the wrong one, you might actually see how you made the right one!
In summary, by using our presence in the present moment, we can send loving energy back into the past and heal old wounds, thereby affecting the outcome of the future.
Love, my friends and followers, is an extremely powerful force.
(Sometimes I wonder where I’d be now or what level of awareness I would have expanded to if someone like me- an empath with heightened sensitivity for energy, big emotions, and deep thinking- would have been if I would have been given instruction on how to fine tune my gifts rather that expected to fit the assembly line of “memorize this, just believe the book” mold. Within that, I can appreciate and understand how each experience in my life has led me to where I am now, exactly where I’m meant to be.)
A Dog and Her Girl 