Note: Sydney, Katie and I all tag-teamed this loosely-defined “topic” after having found inspiration in a recent post of Alex‘s.  This is my take.  Oh, and I found the image below here.

*

Do you ever notice how certain phases of your life have certain themes?  For me, it’s always a word or two – something associated with a particular time.  In January, when I moved out here, the words that seemed to echo from every corner were these: growth and kindness.

I was stretching my personal limits, growing into my own skin into a new community in a whole new state.  I was cultivating and developing relationships, all of which were little baby seedlings of beautiful foliage that just needed time and love in which to grow and flourish.  Old and new relationships were changing and growing, and I reminded myself that kindness would keep all of them in tact.

In February, that word was joy.  Opportunity after opportunity presented itself, new friend after new friend – and all of which seeming to fit exactly the right space in my heart.  Everything was new and shiny and extraordinarily exciting.  BRIGHT.  JOY.  Or maybe that was just from hanging around Grace, because it’s impossible to be in her presence without radiating from the inside out.

And then March is creeping up on us.  And it’s tough to put a word to how I’m feeling now.  I’ve been having dreams lately with the same theme, which for one thing – is completely weird for me.  I never have recurring themes in my dreams – never.  So to dream something similar twice in a few weeks… I paid attention.  I dug around a little, and the symbols present screamed rebirth, new chances, and blank slate.  How perfect as the precursor to Spring, right?  New life.

And then I read this. 

Alex posted a beautiful story about her grandmother, and included a poem from a book called The Invitation.  A few pieces of that resonated so strongly with me, that I cried when I read it before I fell asleep on Tuesday night.  I believe that what we do, what we think – is what we continue to attract in our lives.  And for awhile, I’ve been doing and thinking things that put it out there that I accept the way things are, even when in my heart – I know I really didn’t.

And then I read this.

And then I read, and re-read, and re-read, and read this over and over and over:

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.

And I knew what I had done, and I cried.

And then I read on, and the piece ends with this thought:

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

And I remembered a time in my life when I couldn’t, when the empty moments were uncomfortable, where company was frequently sought because solitude meant either boredom or restlessness.  And I remembered a year where I learned who I was from the inside out, where I learned to love who I was from the inside out, and where “being alone with yourself” meant “myself” was no longer a stranger, but a close companion, full of insight and capable of infinite love.

And I cried, because I knew that March’s theme was truth, but not simply just telling the truth, but being truth.  Being your bottom-line, full-frontal, balls-out, stripped-down truest version of yourself.  Of myself. Of recognizing that that changes and grows as the days go on, but that somewhere under the surface, there is a heart and a soul that knows who she is.  And for the first time in her adult life, is unwilling to compromise that.

*(Satya)