This is what I know — live your life full on
This is what I know.
Maybe it’s that we don’t expect more, maybe it’s we get so tired of trying, maybe it’s that we can’t get up off the floor after falling down & getting up & falling down so many times, maybe it’s we’ve heard too many times that we’re not enough – not good enough, not talented enough, not sexy or beautiful enough, not creative enough, not smart enough, not flexible enough, not not not not not not – the list & yes, the beat goes on – enough.
Maybe we grew up with folks saying we should be seen and not heard and a host of other crap we can recite alphabetically that kept us velcro-ed to a corner, shaking in our boots; keeping our feelings at bay; maybe it’s the stack of rejections that remind us we’re just a hair away from being special or brilliant but not quite special or brilliant enough; maybe it’s the men & women who left us notes, texts, post-it’s with I like you, but. Maybe it’s that life wears us down, maybe it’s that old saying two steps forward one step back, maybe it’s our heart gets worn down like the heels on our favorite boots.
But here’s the thing that keeps on ticking: don’t give up. No. No. No. Don’t. Don’t settle. Don’t let someone else’s bad taste, or bad judgment or bad day, or fence-straddling prevent you from living your life full-on, all-in.
Don’t allow another human to gauge your importance; don’t allow a man or a woman to dictate your worthiness simply because they don’t feel or recognize the weight of your value, or value their own lives. Don’t allow someone who loves polka dots and all things circular to convince you that zig-zags and bold strokes are out of fashion.
Mediocrity is not a fucking goal. It’s not what we aim for, hope for, hope to get to; it is not a destination; at best it’s a pit stop. If mediocrity were a hotel it would be a Days Inn. If it were a fabric it would be rayon. If it were a color it would be beige.
This here is your life. Your life. It’s not someone else’s. It’s yours. Stop putting your life on hold, stop tucking it into a corner, a closet; stop renting it, stop leasing it; stop silently hoping and wishing and praying that someone is gonna pay off your self-debt.
Own your life.
Live it full on.
Strut your gorgeous messy imperfect broken edgy jagged magnificent sparkly glossy hot-ass bad-ass sexy-ass shit.
You are a fucking masterpiece.
This I know.
This I would bet on.