I heard a question a few years back and wrote it down as it made me pause.
"If I asked you to name the things you loved, how long before you would name yourself?" Hmmmm.
This popped into my head today at 2 a.m. as I lay awake pondering difficult choices, many challenges, and my long journey to finding contentment.
Choosing oneself can be oh-so-hard. It is wonderfully rewarding in the long run, but at the moment, it can feel pretty shitty. Over the past five years, my journey has been an arduous adventure with epic side tales and twists. Whenever I feel I've gotten ahead and am settling into contentment with the story I had hoped for, some tornado takes me out at the knees (or the ankles, lol).
Despite this, I keep getting back up, scraping up some hope, and crawling back onto the trail. Again and again. And again, it seems.
So, lying awake, it is first resentment I feel bubbling up.
I cannot control the world. I can, however, control my thoughts and reactions to them. I can feel frustration and disappointment. I can feel burdened and exhausted. I can feel betrayed. I can also look at each dip in my road and look inward at the parts I've learned about myself and others and how I deepened my compassion for myself. My patience. My sense of calm. Not to mention all the other hard-earned lessons of life.
This path, these challenges, and this newfound knowledge will direct me toward an even more profound sense of contentment. At the moment, I shake my head in disbelief, wondering how another burden is fair and whether there might be easier routes towards my goals—whether to abandon the attempt at achieving them.
In the wee hours of the night, though, I remember the thousands of hard steps already taken. I visualize the hundreds of stories along my multi-year expedition.
I remember the importance of picking me.
It's hard, I suppose because most people would have given up.
Just as most people don't think of themselves when asked about things they love.
But I do. Love me.
My goodness, it's been a long effort. I am worth it.
"If I asked you to name the things you loved, how long before you would name yourself?" Hmmmm.
This popped into my head today at 2 a.m. as I lay awake pondering difficult choices, many challenges, and my long journey to finding contentment.
Choosing oneself can be oh-so-hard. It is wonderfully rewarding in the long run, but at the moment, it can feel pretty shitty. Over the past five years, my journey has been an arduous adventure with epic side tales and twists. Whenever I feel I've gotten ahead and am settling into contentment with the story I had hoped for, some tornado takes me out at the knees (or the ankles, lol).
Despite this, I keep getting back up, scraping up some hope, and crawling back onto the trail. Again and again. And again, it seems.
So, lying awake, it is first resentment I feel bubbling up.
I cannot control the world. I can, however, control my thoughts and reactions to them. I can feel frustration and disappointment. I can feel burdened and exhausted. I can feel betrayed. I can also look at each dip in my road and look inward at the parts I've learned about myself and others and how I deepened my compassion for myself. My patience. My sense of calm. Not to mention all the other hard-earned lessons of life.
This path, these challenges, and this newfound knowledge will direct me toward an even more profound sense of contentment. At the moment, I shake my head in disbelief, wondering how another burden is fair and whether there might be easier routes towards my goals—whether to abandon the attempt at achieving them.
In the wee hours of the night, though, I remember the thousands of hard steps already taken. I visualize the hundreds of stories along my multi-year expedition.
I remember the importance of picking me.
It's hard, I suppose because most people would have given up.
Just as most people don't think of themselves when asked about things they love.
But I do. Love me.
My goodness, it's been a long effort. I am worth it.
