LOVE.

can i tell you how good it feels to choose the thing we are discouraged from choosing?  can i tell you how good it feels to choose exactly that, which as females, we are told is selfish and bad and wrong?  god, are there even words?  is there a way to highlight this sweep of ecstasy, this central pleasure?  is there something i can compare it to?  the divinity of the first prime number?  the excellence of music?  the wholesome quality of that innocent moment when, as a child, you would lay yourself down across your mother's lap and she would lovingly scratch your back?  can i tell you, now, how good it feels to have chosen my Self?  to have spent these last 6 months looking only into my own eyes?  can i tell you how absolutely unlonely i am? 

there is no loneliness within me.  i long for nothing except to be an artist.  if i crave anything it is to be left alone with my work.  if i crave anything it is to wake, alone in my own bed, with my diary well within reach and a pen in my eager hand.  the voices i wait for are the voices of my best friends.  i lean in to their love and back away from the other expectations and exploitations of my faith, of my natural willingness to help and please. 

6 months.

and in a day and a half i will be on a plane to new york.


when i was 7 or 8 years old i had a poster of the NY city skyline all in silhouette.  it was pinned next to where i slept.  i would lay in the top bunk and gaze at the image and dream of a place i had never seen.  i will be 32 years old on september 3rd and i will see our great american city for the very first time a few days before that.  a life long dream is actually coming true. 

can i tell you how good it feels to live life exclusively on my own terms, making apologies to no one,  and void of the need to fashion excuses for a goddamn thing?

lovely.