For so many of my adult years, I wanted to know myself.
Growing up, I’d heard there was such thing as a person knowing themselves and, truthfully, I was envious of all those who did.
When I thought of what it meant for a woman to know herself, in my mind I saw strength. I saw opinion. I saw a woman in charge, a statue of clarity in a crumbling world.
I didn’t think I was any of those things.
I still don’t. If I know anything of myself, it’s that I’m just a big kid that loves music and movies and coffee. And laughter, of course, because what would this world be without a good cackle.
I have the best news to share.
I am no longer seeking to know myself.
I am no longer seeking to be the woman that I always thought I should be by now.
All I truly crave in this big old universe of ours is to be free to be my authentic self.
To live my truth.
To fly above the path I choose, rather than simply walk it (because flying is way more fun, don’t you think?)
I don’t suppose I will ever truly know myself because, in this life, I will be constantly moving and changing to suit all my new moments.
All my new places.
All my new people.
If I can be satisfied with the simple act of loving myself for who I am in any given moment, then that sounds pretty bloody great to me.
Bring on the next time I doubt myself.
Bring on the next time I cry into my tacos about completely ridiculous things.
Because gosh I love that girl.
And I love that she really doesn’t care if she knows herself, or not. xx