I mean, these two paragraphs? Grown ass woman gold:
I want to be witnessed, for others to track my emotional growth like pencil marks on a door frame. I want to be loved, for being bossy and specific and pleased with the cleverness of my own invitations. I want to receive good gifts that don’t take up much space, like Diet Cokes and handmade signs and three nights of Rush “bodying” our children in the open wilds of our living room while I wrote this essay in bed.
What I am telling you is that I want every day to be a tiny birth day, which means every day a tiny death, too. Like how corpse pose comes before the fetal position in my yoga practice. Or how death comes before resurrection in my faith practice. They’re a pair. We need both. It’s a lot. It’s as it should be.
I mean, these two paragraphs? Grown ass woman gold:
I want to be witnessed, for others to track my emotional growth like pencil marks on a door frame. I want to be loved, for being bossy and specific and pleased with the cleverness of my own invitations. I want to receive good gifts that don’t take up much space, like Diet Cokes and handmade signs and three nights of Rush “bodying” our children in the open wilds of our living room while I wrote this essay in bed.
What I am telling you is that I want every day to be a tiny birth day, which means every day a tiny death, too. Like how corpse pose comes before the fetal position in my yoga practice. Or how death comes before resurrection in my faith practice. They’re a pair. We need both. It’s a lot. It’s as it should be.