I woke up this morning to a message in my Twitter DM inbox from an acquaintance that knocked me on my ass. It included the words “create space/permission.” Timely fucking words. Granted, I don’t really know if the words are actually fucking, but if there ever were a one-night stand that could work, it’d be between creating space and permission.
But I digress.
Locked up in an emotional shitstorm since Monday (which demarcated one year since Jason died), fueled by the joys of not sleeping and some pervasive stomach virus that’s made solid food an elusive pursuit, I really needed to see those words this morning. You – the lady who sent ’em to me – you know who you are. So thank you.
I’m slapping myself.
I’m a huge fan of lists (which is causing my literary agent an undue amount of consternation), so there are two lists I’m going to make today. It’ll make the slapping easier to administer. THINGS THAT ARE EASY and THINGS THAT ARE HARD. Let’s go.
THINGS THAT ARE EASY
THINGS THAT ARE HARD
- Smiling (especially when there’s no reason)
- Facing Truths
- Crying (you would think this would be in the EASY column, but it ain’t)
- Burning Things to the Ground
- Forgiving (especially ourselves)
Go ahead and put the word “ourselves” after most of those phrases.
And the different between the EASY stuff and the HARD stuff? Everything on the HARD list requires that you give yourself permission to do it.
So what’s the deal with permission? Seems to me that everything on the HARD list is pretty awesome. And yeah, I even like crying. I’m a sap. I will cry at sappy movies, viral videos, and kitten pictures on the internet. Go figure.
Anywhoo – permission. Why the fuck aren’t we giving ourselves permission to do the things we need to do? Why are we wallowing in places filled with Cheetos and bad porn when we could be out in the real world where brie and sex live?
Grant. Yourself. Some fucking. Permission.
That’s all I’ve got. I know what I’m doing today – and it involves moving a metric ton of things out from where they don’t belong so I have room for the things that really matter.
Me? I’ve been slapped. Maybe you have, too.
PS: Enjoy the koala bear having a bath. Can I get a non sequitur up in this joint? Holla…