Immobile.

7.21.16

You get to decide. Every day as you wake up, you have the choice to rise. Truly.

Because you can stay.

Surely. You can stay and you can sleep. You can roll back over. Or…you can get up earlier. You can watch the sun rise. You can step outside. You can take deeper breaths. You can keep your eyes closed. You can stand and watch the world stretch and transition. You can look and see.

The world goes on either way. The days don’t stop or start for you. They never have. They never will. So, whichever. Whatever. You choose.

We step into our own beauty. 

We cultivate our own beauty.

We mask or unveil our own beauty.

Look at yourself. Really, look at yourself. Stare at your reflection in the mirror and stay motionless; be still. You never really get to see yourself. Not the way you see others. Not the way you analyze and depict and scrutinize the lives and moves of others.

Be gentle with yourself.

Choose your words and your thoughts and your steps. Choose your food and your clothes and your destinations and your interactions. Choose your reactions. Choose the space between your being and the beings of those around you. Choose who you reach out to. Choose who you walk away from. Choose how you reply to others. Choose if you reply. Choose words. Choose silence. Choose movements. Choose stillness.

You are beautiful on your own. You are extraordinary because you choose to be. Because you wake up and you build and re-build and re-sculpt your heart and your head. You choose what it means to be a human in this world.

We all get to choose. The scary part, the tricky thing, is when we become paralyzed by the enormity of our own choices, or most commonly, by the realization of the proceeding consequences.

We are beautiful because we are eternally, inevitably, flawed. We are beautiful because there is no right choice. There’s no right move, right turn, right person, right time, right place. There are no right words. And while we fumble around looking for these ideal scenarios, we are simultaneously losing our grip on our own small, fleeting chances to act on the bits of life we have been given; the fractured, but very real, delicate pieces of perfect we have been  entrusted with. 

We are beautiful because we keep going and trying and fighting even while standing face to face with the fear of playing our cards the wrong way.

But we can’t be magnificent until we choose. Until we wake up. Until we get out of bed. Until we move.

And so.

Step into your own abundantly messy pile of choices…and decide.

Stop wishing and thinking and analyzing and talking and theorizing.

Stop telling the world what you want.

Show us.

-b

 

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