I’ve never been a know it all. I definitely wasn’t class valedictorian. I don’t know all the answers and I don’t want to. I am not a relationship expert and I don’t pretend to be. I only speak from experience, emotions, true observance and persistence with the aim to perhaps enlighten but mostly to identify.
It takes a lot of confidence and faith to believe in anything and I believe it takes double that amount to believe in Love. As we grow, we sometimes become cynical. I promised myself that no matter how much it hurts or how many tears touch my pillow at night, to never lose my faith in love. It has proved to be exhausting, but if I were to lose that faith I don’t know where I would be. Believing in love is sort of like believing in Santa Clause or the existence of a God. It takes immense reassurance, devotion, and humility. Through the years, with much time and patience, I have learned how to be myself. I was often the girl you play baseball with and crack jokes with, not the girl you asked to slow dance or watch a movie with on a Friday night. I took Woodshop and spent more hours in a karate dojo than I did having girl talk. I didn’t have polished nails and was sometimes the Farrah Fawcett of bed head. After trying to assimilate and years of awkwardness I have found that one of the key difficulties in being oneself is having the confidence to do so. Having the guts to say hey, I am interesting, I matter, I am pretty damn amazing and worthy of notice. I was once told at a young age that I had a lot of guts. Guts: my second favorite word. Whenever I hear it I can’t help but imagine a rusty gritty bucket full of courage, fresh chunks of self-assurance and drops of valor dripping down the side of a worn tin as it mixes with dirt and grime.
It takes a lot of confidence and faith to believe in anything and I believe it takes double that amount to believe in Love. As we grow, we sometimes become cynical. I promised myself that no matter how much it hurts or how many tears touch my pillow at night, to never lose my faith in love. It has proved to be exhausting, but if I were to lose that faith I don’t know where I would be. Believing in love is sort of like believing in Santa Clause or the existence of a God. It takes immense reassurance, devotion, and humility. Through the years, with much time and patience, I have learned how to be myself. I was often the girl you play baseball with and crack jokes with, not the girl you asked to slow dance or watch a movie with on a Friday night. I took Woodshop and spent more hours in a karate dojo than I did having girl talk. I didn’t have polished nails and was sometimes the Farrah Fawcett of bed head. After trying to assimilate and years of awkwardness I have found that one of the key difficulties in being oneself is having the confidence to do so. Having the guts to say hey, I am interesting, I matter, I am pretty damn amazing and worthy of notice. I was once told at a young age that I had a lot of guts. Guts: my second favorite word. Whenever I hear it I can’t help but imagine a rusty gritty bucket full of courage, fresh chunks of self-assurance and drops of valor dripping down the side of a worn tin as it mixes with dirt and grime.
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