I forget how hard I’ve worked to make it to “okay.”
My life has a steady rhythm — a job I enjoy, paid bills with a little leftover to have some fun, time and energy for my creative pursuits. I’m addicted to the stillness; to the freedom found in routine.
The proverbial mountaintop teases me via my social media feeds. I could be better traveled. Open to sharing my life with a partner. Have less back fat and thicker eyebrows and clearer skin. Get an agent and pitch my writing to real publications. Ground myself in mystical, spiritual practice. Attend more hashtag-titled parties in glittery dresses.
Sometimes I look around at my cozy little spot on the mountain side and wonder why it is enough.
Then I look down.
The climb to this plateau was a bitch.
The scars have faded but every now and then, I touch the bruises I’ve acquired scrapping and clawing to this point. I did not settle for “okay.” I bled for it.
I remember when I couldn’t even see the point of steppin’ out the muthafuckin’ house. Let it go, let it go, let it gooooo. We came too far…
— Anderson .Paak, “Celebrate.”
This quiet little life of mine with its structures and routines is beautiful because I made it so. The mountaintop is alluring, but I’ve tilled this soil. Right here. I am grateful to sip wine and watch its flowers bloom.
I am okay. And it is more than Enough.
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