I haven’t been reading blogs recently, and I miss them. I miss you.
My quiet, though, is a necessary, self protective one. In this greater quiet, I have spent a lot of time thinking more about safety. I have discovered both that I haven’t been a safe place for myself and that I must work–hard–to be one now and for many tomorrows.
Of course, even the greatest quiet must include one’s closest friend and Silver Star (aka “Rache”), and we’ve had much to share. One text message exchange in particular lit my heart such that I wanted to memorialize it, to remember the exchange and to remind myself that love isn’t a matter of luck. I wrote Rache:
[Someone] told me earlier this week that I’m lucky to be so loved … but it wasn’t luck, for me or for you or our siblings. Having known great hurt, we are also uniquely equipped to identify those who could or would never hurt us. We have sought those people in our lives and left aside the others. It is not luck that we are loved. It is that we are lovable … that we listen, and we hear, and we love so greatly.
Yeah, it’s one thing to be blessed, but another thing to be lucky. Lucky implies it was just random happenstance that you forged the relationships you have. It’s effort, work, and plain ol’ personality… We can be bitter or we can try to be our best selves. One attracts people and the other doesn’t.
I’ve written more than once here that you are worthy of love, kindness, and protection.
The same is true for me, and right now, I’m plowing my way
through a crash course in treating myself as if
I am lovable and loveworthy,
and worth all the work
This is not
a thinly veiled attempt
to gather more signs of
external love; I am indeed
blessed to feel that
What I seek