This begins in my bed on a Sunday morning after much good intention. I'm embarking on a self-love project. Ten days into 30, and I find myself in a position of solid uncertainty that it's time to embrace. Successful and engaged in a job that tears me down almost as much as it feeds me. Living in a city that masks my neuroses in the hustle or die stories of the rest of NY. At home in my corner of Brooklyn and deeply not at home in my corner of Brooklyn. Four strikes (went down swinging) in the romantic love department. Inhabiting a body that brings me pleasure and mobility with a caveat of "within your limits" that is becoming more noticeable in my morning runs, warrior twos, inside turns, and left hooks. In community with beautiful people who stretch across this hemisphere but are often too far away to quell my deep fear of abandonment that has been with me since my first memory at age three. Here. Now.
My deepest passion is to be storyteller as healer. I have explored that in many different forms and looking to settle into the one that is most mine. I continue/start today. From scratch. From not scratch. From here:
"Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation, can that which is indestructible be found in us." --Pema Chodron
