Noticed something recently, and it’s a realization I’ve come to before but then let it fall from myself after a spell: We’re our own worst enemies, nearly always. We hold ourselves to so many fires, it’s a wonder we’ve skin left at all, a wonder we smell anything other than burning hair and ash. We overanalyze every possible thing that falls through the filters of our lives, we question every happiness, no matter how small. We believe ourselves unworthy of so much in our lives, think we’ve not done enough, worked hard enough, suffered quite sufficiently, and so we insulate ourselves from joy while telling others it’s just sorrow we’ve defending against. It takes courage to fight back against this, it takes an act of strength to give yourself the permission to actually, truly, finally, be contented.
A favor: Practice this. Dare this. Force yourself to stop from time to time, and for the love of all that is good and holy, do what Vonnegut asked when he said, “And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.” Nothing is stopping you but you.
Dare to allow it
to give yourself permission
to be contented.
Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson
Song of the Day
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