It’s Saturday morning, I am snuggled in my warm and cozy blanket. I just had a random thought of how my life is going on. I am sipping my green tea and it tastes like honey with a pinch of lemon. I’m warm in my woolen sweater, but shivering at the same time.
I’m sitting here thinking about life, about the mess of it all, about the beauty and the unknown, and all the ways we’re constantly trying to find our way in the craziness.
My heart is full of lots of emotions right now. It has satisfaction knowing that how much effort I am putting into my work, my life in general, but at the same time, I have anxiety that what if I am never going to find my life purpose, what if I am going to live a loveless life, what if I am always going to have a family of one. All of these emotions making me extra sensitive.
But in between all those emotions, I feel, strangely, at peace, a sense of calm that is running in my mind and body.
Because for the first time after so long, I’ve realized that it’s okay to not know everything. It’s okay to be confused. It’s okay to be dizzy and unsure.
I’m sitting on my couch, writing this, the sound of my keyboard- it seems to be in rhythm with my mind and thoughts as a piece of soothing music. I’m thinking about what it means to finally release all the pressure that’s constantly weighing on your chest. Of how it feels to finally stop trying to be the master of everything around you because all we can really change is our own life — and not even that — our next step.
It’s okay to just exist, here, in this present moment. Acknowledging that not everything will make sense, not everything will work out, not everything will feel wonderful and happy, but it will all be okay.
I didn’t always believe this. I remember the ache of my heart just a couple of years ago, so heavy and pressing in my chest. I remember mornings, waking up to the emptiness, the hollowness of being without someone I cared for. I remember how it felt to lose everything I thought I knew. Everything I thought I loved and loved me in return.
The other day, a woman messaged me. A stranger, confessing that she reads my words and felt connected. She read my words and felt like her heart was in rhythm with mine, aching just the same way, telling the same story as the universe has connected us and strangely we both seem to live a parallel life.
And I couldn’t quite put together the words I wanted to say — to tell her that she’d be okay. She’d be just fine. One day, she’d let go and find happiness. Even if it meant being alone.
As I wrote her a message, I thought of myself. My stubbornness. My inability to believe in any comfort outside of what I’d experienced. I thought of how you could tell me a million beautiful things while I was grieving, but I wouldn’t have believed a single one of them until I could feel them in my own bones — and (most likely) neither would she.
And isn’t that how it always happens? We never believe we’ll get over or her until we do.
Until we feel that freedom. Until we breathe in fresh air without thinking of them first and realize that this is how it feels to finally move on, to let them go. And damn, what a beautiful feeling that is.
I’m watching outside of patio, listening to the birds, seeing out of the corner of my eye, crashes narrowly to look at the crazy squirrel who is just looking at the patio glass window or may be at me to assure me that it’s alright to feel sad, it’s alright to feel that emptiness and end of the day you will be alright. And it’s crazy to think about the fragility of our existence.
We think we’re so damn invincible, so damn permanent. But when it comes down to it, we’re all just specks on this earth. Falling and feeling and finding something to love.
I’m thinking of all the things — that life will bend and break, and just when you rebuild, it will crumble beneath you again. That I know how it feels to not know what the hell you’re supposed to do, but you just keep going. Damn it, you just keep going.
I wish I could tell her that I’m sorry. And how that version of yourself is more beautiful than anything else in this world.
I wish I could tell her that she will be alright. That for a while, she’ll wake up with a sour taste in her mouth, but after time, she’ll shrug on a sweatshirt and look at her reflection on the bathroom mirror.
And just like in everything, every ebb, and swell of this life, she will be alright. She will find her way again. She will discover hope and new beginnings and fall into those willingly, freely, beautifully.
She will survive.
And so will we.
Be Your Best
Read more on life:
Welcome to Drthefit’s Newsletter—Drthefit.
Writing has always been a passion since I was a young kid. I read, take photos and love taking risks. Fitness enthusiast and making everyday worth living.
I publish posts every week and some more. My writing is personal and reflection of my experience, life journey and learnings. I write about health, fitness, well-being, every day lessons-hacks, self care, self love and how to balance career and home.
If you relate and have something to share, please write in comments or drop an email. I will genuinely read and respond. Till then take care!
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