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Tonight, I opened up about some childhood trauma in a conversation with some of my closest friends. We talked about lives changing, getting through shit, losing loved ones and moving on. I talked about my family changing from when I was little, how sometimes I feel like we’re all such different people from when we were kids.

[The title is a quote from an Andrea Gibson poem…btw.  It’s called Glider Plane…and it’s one of my favorites right now]

It’s kind of beautiful how love, unconditional love, can wipe a slate clean. My sisters piss me off weekly.  Like, legitimately piss me off.  But I love them, and almost every day it starts all over again.  I want to love the world that way.  I want to see each day as something wonderful and new, wiped clean.

I want to love myself that way. All of the time.  Everyone should love themselves that way.  What if we just cut ourselves slack all the time? What if we didn’t beat the shit out of ourselves for not working out,  or for not knowing what we’re “supposed to do” with our lives? Can you imagine forgiving yourself for everything every night and waking up fresh and anew?  One of my beautiful friends keeps beating the crap out of herself for not working out.  I keep thinking: if she could only see what everyone around her sees, she’d know how ridiculous it is to beat up something so RAWSOME.  She’s fucking amazing. And hilarious.

Maybe we should all look at ourselves the way we look at other people.

I want to make a mark with my love.  I want it to stick.  I want to show those around me what I love and what inspires me, and I hope it sets their hearts on fire.  I want to be a spark.  I want to be so positive, it leaves a mark.

I want to keep my heart open and, though it hurts sometimes, I want it to revolutionize my life. (and maybe the lives of those around me)

I’m lucky.  I’m lucky because every scary or painful or shitty thing that I have ever had to deal with, has eventually led to this: being fucking happy I’m alive.  We rarely realize how lucky we are to be able to experience heartache or jealousy or anger.   My first real heartbreak left me a mess, but I couldn’t help but smile a little through the dramatic heart shattering saddness because all I could think was “Wow.  I’m so lucky.  This is JUST like a real person, my heart is broken. I’m totally living my life and being sad like a real person.” This might tell more about how boring I really am, but…it was nice to have that realization.

Yesterday, I talked to my boss.  No throat closing, no crying…I didn’t even shake.  He called me into his office and I was confident, assertive…I fucking rocked it.  It didn’t even matter what he said to me.  I did it.  I looked him in the eye.  I spoke with a steady voice.  And I smiled confidently.  I. Fucking. Did. It.  And I felt like a real person.  Today, I was happy and my weight was gone.  Today, I stood up a little taller.

Sometimes it feels like it’s just spinning…and sometimes, I realize that I’ve begun another layer of creating me.  It’s just kind of…fucking awesome and wonderful.

I’m still talking to the greek every day.  It’s awkward and wonderful, but I’m not giving in (I keep telling him that it’s just business…but it’s just kind of adorbz, the way he says things in Greek and can’t think of the word in English.).  I might be ready for another (real) queer love…guess it’ll come when it’s ready.  And I have these people in my life that I talk to daily, or weekly, or monthly…and, ya know what?  I’m just so freaking lucky!

We’re just so lucky, little blogdrops. Remember that.  And love yourself, wipe your slate every night, darlings. You won’t regret it. Promise.