Sometimes, we are given the rare gift of distance. A sense that we can see ourselves from the outside, and that, when we do, it is all good.

This past week, I dreamed I had dinner with someone I have wronged deeply in the past.

We already know how to halt the warming of the planet. We already know how to not burn out. We already know how to love each other.

We can’t ever choose someone else’s response. Only our own. But in that choice is a latent universe of freedom, empathy, and love.

When does stability mean calcification?

We can’t go back. We can’t go forward. We can just be. One long string of nows, each one a possibility to love.

There is spaciousness in my closets and in my chest. I treasure that.

Guilt is not a good way to move through life. It can be a motivator for change, but it is the release of guilt that actually makes change happen.

The mind produces thoughts like the mouth produces saliva. Meanwhile, I sit.

I love old-fashioned rollercoasters. They are shaky, unpredictable, and look like they’ve been put together with duct tape, but they also make your heart soar.

The truth of how we are living together as a community of humans is hard to carry. And I am part of it.

This is what time should be made of: trust, breathing, thoughts unfolding, bodies at ease.

Intolerance is that sense of, if I wouldn’t do it like that or don’t quite get it, then it can’t be valuable at all.

And when I say “learned,” I really mean they listened it out of me.

Is all the burn-out and discomfort a consequence of us not taking the time to bring ourselves along?

In which I am familiar and unknown, all at once.

There is warmth in my delusions. But do they also keep me from truly living my life?

Every morning, as I breathe in silence, I try to return to the island within.

Why is it so hard for me to be accountable to the things I already know I need?

In which I prefer to live life without safety nets.