In Praise of Doing Nothing.
Often, when I look to put pen to paper and write, it’s hard to know what to say.
I feel compelled to reel off truisms.
To share what many of us already know, but perhaps need reminding of.
To share what I need to hear myself. What I tell myself. How I comfort myself. How I have learned to love the skin I’m in. A beautiful, abundant, ‘imperfect’ work in progress. The embodiment of perfection is acceptance. When we can love without fear or limits, everything else falls away.
But, I digress.
For maybe there’s something in that, in this, too — the power of reinforcement. How easy it is for us, as human beings, to lose our way. How much we look to others for support or reassurance. For validation that we are right, ‘good’, or ‘worthy’, or perhaps just doing the right thing — to disguise that none of us has a clue. Yes, really.
The more I learn about myself and the world around me, the more I realise how little I know… and the more the world delights me. I am but a child: endlessly curious, easily pleased, quietly (or not so quietly) surprised by what I find. What I encounter, even. How the world shapeshifts as I do. It is quite magical to see and feel our own influence. Addictive, too.