Crisis in reflection

Four years ago I was a train wreck. I couldn’t sleep, had stopped eating, and was powering my way through the world with so much coffee that I’d tremble whenever I sat down. I remember that time the way I remember childhood. I remember it with tenderness.

I suspect one of the worst things that can happen to you is that you get away with it. That you palm off consequences onto other people. That you miss out on the opportunity to unlearn.

Before the train wreck, I just kept patching myself together. This is good enough. As long as I can keep going, this is just fine.

But at some point you have to ask yourself: Do I want to go on like this? How can I go on like this?

Four years ago, a generous man told me that I needed to practice saying “no” more. No. You cannot thrash when you should be listening. No. You cannot lie here and call it enlightenment. No. This line is immutable.

Yes. The broken parts of you are more beautiful than the clockwork parts. Yes. You are enough. Yes. Love is your favorite cradle. Yes. Bossy girls are fucking hot.

A crisis is an opportunity to reevaluate. In what do I believe? Is this thoughtful, deliberate living? Your heart is a locomotive, capable of revolution.

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