READING TIME 5 Minutes
I grew up bearing zero ambitions.I grew up building only happiness.
And that’s when the warp of the world ensnared me. Caught me right between its teeth from the scuff of my shirt and snarled,”How come you want no big house, no cars, no living rooms filled with fancy objects that stay poised but don’t offer much?”
I blinked hard. Slowly, I found my voice.
I crave a slow life. A simple life.I want to wake up and feel the passage of my breath. I want to scrunch up my blanket and feel the flex of my fingers as they slowly come out of a dream. I want to open my eyes and stay there for a bit, doing nothing.
I want to feel enough even when I don’t have Schedule knocking at my mind’s door, a whirled to-do list in its hand. Rather I’d gladly part ways with him. For you see, I want a life where simply BEING is the law. The new rule. The new cool.
I crave a life where the ocean greets me at my doorstep and the sand insists on sinking my toes into its warm, warm body. I want a life where joy is second nature. Not something to be chased or bought. But rather something that is made, every single day, with my own two hands. I want a life where work is a synonym for giving. An extension of me reaching out and out to the world to heal, to touch, to love.
Is it okay if I've never wished for a 6 digit salary? Is it okay if I’ve never dreamed of wearing a Chanel but find my greatest comfort from worn out sweatshirts that breathe of memories? Is it okay if I just want to keep doing all that I love without having to justify “why”? Not just to the world, but even to myself. Is it okay if I am only ever concerned about being filled with calm and certainty and not about how many people like my art? Is it okay if all I want to do is create and create and create some more?
Because I don’t want the things this world wants for me. I want the things that my soul quietly mumbles into my ear. I want a life where my body isn’t struggling to fit into a 26 waistline. But is dancing in the meadows wearing what it feels at home in.
Is it okay if I have never craved a villa or a in-house Jacuzzi? Is it okay if all that I want is to see the world, all of it? Is it okay if I want to smile at strangers and make them feel loved, every chance I get? Is it okay if I want to stick my fingers into a gooey pudding and chase the lights at the end of the lane? Is it okay if I want to make friends of the most unusual kind: the whim-bearers, the creators, the muffled bathroom singers, the dance-in-front-of-your-mirror dancers, the giddy-with-feelings writers?
Is it okay if I am okay with my okay? Is it okay I am content in my now, headily loving the few once-in-a-lifetime people I treasure? Is it okay if I don’t want too much, but just enough to keep my head and heart growing, evermore? Is it okay if I define success by the amount of joy that pumps through my heart, through the rest of my days?
Because I am not asking for permission. I am bearing open my world and standing tall in my vulnerability. I am not asking for approval.
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