"I don't know if I continue, even today, always liking myself. But what I learned to do many years ago was to forgive myself. It is very important for every human being to forgive herself or himself because if you live, you will make mistakes--it is inevitable. But once you do and you see the mistake, then you forgive yourself and say, 'Well if I'd known better, I'd have done better,' that's all. So you say to people you think you may have injured, 'I'm sorry,' and then you say to yourself, 'I'm sorry.' If we all hold on to the mistake, we can't see our own glory in the mirror because we have the mistake between our faces and the mirror; we can't see what we're capable of being. You can ask forgiveness of others, but in the end the real forgiveness is in one's own self. I think that young men and women are so caught by the way they see themselves. Now mind you, when a larger society see them as unattractive, as threats, as too Black, or too White, or too poor, or too fat, or too thin, or too sexual, or too asexual, that's rough. But you can overcome that. The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself. If we don't have that, we never grow, we never learn, and sure as hell we should never teach."

--Maya Angelou

(via Free Bird)

The Relative Size of Fish, Ponds, and Failures

A lot of people who come to Princeton, or at the very least a lot of the people I know at Princeton (this may be more prevalent amongst lower-income students of color than in the general population), went to decent-but-not-spectacular or maybe even totally off-the-map public schools. And this gives lots of us the common experience of having been big fish in tiny little ponds. I got used to being "special" at a young age, being pulled out of class starting in kindergarten to go to a program for academically gifted children, and then tracked into academically rigorous Math and English programs in the 4th grade (with those same kids I'd been seeing in the earlier program), and then switched to an entirely "accelerated" program in 7th grade, interacting with "regular" kids only in Gym, Health, Study Hall, and Electives. The other students in my program and I had special privileges, including the fact that we simply didn't get into trouble. We were kind of untouchable, especially in high school, unless we did something REALLLLLLLY BAD. We were "the AP kids". 

And I got used to being praised at school REAL FAST, especially since at home my ex-stepfather's philosophy was "why should I reward you for doing what you're supposed to do?". It was easy to believe there was something special about me, when you pulled me out of class and gave me different teachers so that I wouldn't be contaminated by the commoners or whatever the fuck you thought would happen to me. And we students of the academically rigorous programs were encouraged to develop our other abilities, so all of a sudden we comprised a large number of the athletes, the band geeks, the artists, etc. In the 8th grade I had a solo in the band concert, a bowl that was traveling around at a state-wide college art fair, and had the highest academic average so got to give a speech at Graduation and be in the newspaper. You couldn't tell me I wasn't the shit (at school). School and everything that school embodied was where I shined.

In fact, during my self-deprecating high school years when I tried to tell myself I wasn't the shit, I consistently had teachers tell me my dreams weren't high enough, or that I could do more. I'm sure it's just teachers' jobs to encourage students and whatnot, but every single time I take a step back and look at my life, I want to thank Chris Hall for basically laughing at the small liberal arts schools I was looking at and telling me I was Ivy League material. I don't know if I ever would have considered it without him. He was the same man who, after hearing my poetry for the first time, told me I'd end up in Hollywood one day. 

Basically, the point I'm trying to get to here is that for the 13 years of my primary and secondary educations, it was incredibly rare for me to hear that I wasn't good at something. "You could do better," were not words that taunted me (while I was at school), though what was praised by my teachers was often found lacking by my mother. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again," was a refrain I'd heard often as a small child, but one which I never really got to put into practice as a teenager, because not succeeding was unknown to me. 

All of this was to say that if there was anything I was unprepared for when I came to Princeton, or even just to the world outside of my hometown, I guess, was being average. Maybe even below average in some instances, depending on the skill sets we're talking about. It wasn't until I came to Princeton Preview and saw what my Astrophysics-major host was like that I realized that being good at something in the context of my high school didn't mean I'd be good at it here, and I had never been bad at anything (but sports, I guess) before. But I could rationalize that and remember that I was at the then-number-one institution in the country and there were bound to be people here that were better than me at some things, and math/science wasn't my strong suit anyway.

I was vastly more underprepared for my writing to be criticized. I had always been the person whose writing was held up as an example for other people to follow in class. My only 5s on AP tests were in English Language and English Literature, my Verbal and Writing sections were higher than my Math section on my SAT, and my high 700s subject test in English Language was one of my biggest accomplishments. Writing was my thing, and no one had ever had anything bad to say about it before. So Writing Seminar basically destroyed my academic self confidence (though I only got at B on my first paper), and that was when it hit me that suddenly I was a small fish in a fucking ocean. 

To this day, I really don't handle making mistakes well. I am a planner by nature, and every time something deviates from my plan, I freak the fuck out. When I failed a test in Psych 101 and wound up with the lowest grade I'd ever had in all my years of schooling and my mom didn't find out and the world kept right on moving, I learned that I can fuck shit up from time to time and not die. But I also quit some of the clubs I was involved in and buckled down academically and got straight As and A-s the next semester, so how bout them apples, Princeton University? I saw my failure as a problem and attacked it with a plan. It is still ingrained into every fiber of my being that failure is something to be avoided. 

And all of this is why this article I read today resonated with me so well, but also scared the shit out of me. "Why Success Always Starts with Failure" featured an interview with the author of a new book about adaptation and why failure is necessary for growth and success.

The three ways most of us handle failures are very, very bad at teaching us to adapt:

"Denial. "It seems to be the hardest thing in the world to admit we've made a mistake and try to put it right. It requires you to challenge a status quo of your own making."

Chasing your losses. We're so anxious not to "draw a line under a decision we regret" that we end up causing still more damage while trying to erase it. For example, poker players who've just lost some money are primed to make riskier bets than they'd normally take, in a hasty attempt to win the lost money back and "erase" the mistake.

Hedonic editing. When we engage in "hedonic editing," we try to convince ourselves that the mistake doesn't matter, bundling our losses with our gains or finding some way to reinterpret our failures as successes." [I'm so guilty of this one. Rather than call something I did a mistake, I try to focus on what I learned from it and convince myself it was worth having done. I may have learned a lot from it, and it may have been worth doing, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't still regard it as a mistake--that will help me get out of this fear of fucking up.]

 We have to learn to fail productively, which reminds me of a line I heard somewhere a long time ago, that someone "tries to fail a little bit better every day."

"Try new things. "Expose yourself to lots of different ideas and try lots of different approaches, on the grounds that failure is common." [New things intimidate me because I might not be good at them or might not like them, or might generally be made to look like a bumbling idiot because of them. (I'm hard on myself sometimes.)]

Experiment where failure is survivable. "Look for experimental approaches where there's lots to learn - projects with small downsides but bigger upsides. Too often we take on projects where the cost of failure is prohibitive, and just hope for the best."

Recognize when you haven't succeeded. "The third principle is the easiest to state and the hardest to stick to: know when you've failed.""

*audible gulp* And how exactly are we supposed to do that?

Gather feedback. "Above all, feedback is essential for determining which experiments have succeeded and which have failed. Get advice, not just from one person, but from several." Some professions have build-in feedback: reviews if you're in the arts, sales and analytics if you release a web product, comments if you're a blogger. If the feedback is harsh, be objective, "take the venom out," and dig out the real advice.

Remove emotions from the equation. "It's important to be dispassionate: forget whether you're ahead or behind, and try to look at the likely costs and benefits of continuing from when you are."

Don't get too attached to your plan. "There's nothing wrong with a plan, but remember Von Moltke's famous dictum that no plan survives first contact with the enemy. The danger is a plan that seduces us into thinking failure is impossible and adaptation is unnecessary - a kind of ‘Titanic' plan, unsinkable (until it hits the iceberg)." [THIS. RIGHT. HERE. is exactly what happens to me when one of my plans fail. It's like, total system failure and I stop being a functional human being because all of my plans just went out the fucking window and I don't know what to do.]

He says we need to create "safe spaces to fail." Places where we can mess up and the world won't end.

Practice disciplined pluralism. Markets work by this process, encouraging the exploration of many new ideas as well as the ruthless weeding out of the ones that fall short. "Pluralism works because life is not worth living without new experiences." Try a lot of things, and commit only to what's working.

Finding "a safe space to fail is a state of mind." Assuming that you don't operate a nuclear power plant for a living, you can probably infuse a bit more freedom and flexibility into your workday. Give yourself permission to test out a few off-the-wall ideas mixed in with the by-the-book ideas.

Imitate the college experience. "College is an amazing safe space to fail. We are experimenting with new friends, a new city, new hobbies and new ideas - and we'll often mess up academically and socially as a result. But we know that as long as we don't screw up too dramatically, we'll finish college, graduate, and move on - that mix of risk and safety is intoxicating. Yet somehow as we grow older we lose it." [This is one I have no problem with, haha.] 

All in all, this sounds like it might be the next self-help book on my reading list, because being afraid to fuck things up is something I really need to work on. 

 

"Undertake something that is difficult; it will do you good. Unless you try to do something beyond what you have already mastered, you will never grow.”

- Ronald E. Osborn

"Sometimes all it takes is looking back to where you came from to be inspired about who you could be. You’re not a finished product, you have more work to do. And sure that’s hard but it’s hard to keep a soul from getting to its next stage." -- Leslie Pitterson, Clutch Magazine

Relationships are not a battle of the egos

And everyone who comes into our lives changes us in some way. If we are no different at the end of a friendship or relationship or even professional relationship than we were when we started, we're doing it wrong. 

That being said,

"'The words 'love' and 'change' used in the same sentence carries a negative connotation for most people.  'What do I look like changing for somebody else?!'  is the question some people ask.  If I had to give an answer, I would say 'You look like love.'" --Euphoric Ears

In light of yesterday's cathartic post...

Reblogged from Too Good to be True

You don't have to be who you were.

From an article entitled "Reconceptualizing Personality: Producing Individuality by Defining the Personal Self," by John C. Turner and lots of other people:

"Personal identity is not a fixed product of past socialization, learning or maturation but a contemporary product of social, societal and psychological forces. It depends inter alia on current group identities, social contexts and the goals, motives, expectations, beliefs and knowledge which are shaped by social influence and social ideologies. An individual's past experience, individual and social, may certainly affect how he or she reacts to and cognizes the contemporary social world, but present social realities, norms, values and ideologies, and reference group memberships are decisive for producing personal identity. Personal change is made possible by social change which impinges on the factors influencing the creation of personal identities."

 Be who you want to be. Who it feels best to be right now. Who you were doesn't matter nearly as much as who you can be right here and now. 

Self-Concept Thursdays is my favorite feature on Curly Nikki.

The lines that are grabbing at me today:

"Don't limit yourself to being what you have been. You owe it to yourself to embrace all that you have inside of you to become." Full post here.

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge--Day 27: Letter to Someone Who Taught You Something New

Dear KO,
The breadth of this topic means I could have written to lots of people, but it just feels most accurate to write to you because of how much you've taught me since February. I recently read somewhere on the interwebz the line, "I don't want to come out of a relationship feeling like I haven't changed much," and regardless of the misalignment between the levels of seriousness with which each of us regarded this, I've certainly changed a lot. Maybe I'll expand this to include things I learned about myself via being with you, which may not be the exact same thing as you teaching me, but oh well.
I learned that if grown-ass-woman-Maya wanted someone badly enough, I could take action steps to get from Point A to Point B with said person; I hadn't been brave enough to do that since I was little just-barely-a-teenager-Maya. You taught me what it feels like to be swept off my feet. You reintroduced me to anticipation and infatuation, 12-year-old schoolgirl style: will I see him today? Is he gonna text me? What will he say? I learned to prioritize something that was bigger than just me, even if my friends thought I was crazy. I learned to dismiss my friends' opinions/advice, which I hope I have unlearned just as quickly. 
I learned a new level of happiness, a level that evidently constantly showed on my face and got commented on all the time. You helped me see that striving for independence doesn't mean I can't ask for help in moments of need. You taught me that my ex (before you) may have been right on two counts: 1) that I just might have been a nympho waiting to happen, and 2) that the best thing two people can do in bed is to wake up together. You taught me the bliss that comes from waking up happy with the arm of a man I adore slung around my ribcage in casual protection, and that there are better reasons than schoolwork to only get three hours of sleep. There were more tangible things: you taught me how to two-step, that Campus Club sells $2 milkshakes, and that the ears are a very erogenous zone (among various other lessons in physics and anatomy that we learned together). I learned new levels of physical comfort, both with myself and with another person. I learned how to stretch the tiniest events as far as they could go, a whole new version of time management.
You taught me that I was wrong about myself in so many ways: I'd always abhorred cutesy, gagged at over-the-top romance. I always told myself I never wanted anything like that, but from the moment you gave it to me, I reveled in it. You taught me that, against everything I'd ever believed, in my heart of hearts all I want is a routine of togetherness, regularly shared meals and molding myself to fit into someone else's shape night after night. I know now that you never meant to, but you taught me how to dive into love: to weigh the options upon the shore and make the conscious decision to Get. In. The. Water! [Notebook reference]. Even if the two-way street was only a very well-put-together mirage, you taught me how it feels to be in love. With you, I learned to abandon all but my most important reservation: reservedness about my reservations; I'm working on it in your absence. I wish I had learned how to tell you when I was worried; instead, I learned to put my worries on the back burner and live half in the moment and half in a larger picture my silly little heart had concocted. I learned to be carefree in a glorious but potentially dangerous way. I learned trust and security at deeper levels than ever before, in the I wanted to put all of me in a box with a bow on it and give it to you and say This is yours now, take care of it, and I remembered again what it was to want to share myself with someone completely. 
I have since learned the true value of honesty, the sting of hypocrisy, and what exactly constitutes a lie. I have learned to be more open in my questioning. I have learned that a person's intentions have no true bearing on the effects of their actions on others, and am in the process of learning which component (the intentions or the effects) hold more weight in the course of this life we live, which I should value more. I have relearned the weight of shattered expectations, along with how to hurt, how to feel like I've been fooled, how to be furious, how to doubt, how to blame, and how to over-analyze (though I'm sure I never forgot that last one).
Most recently, I am learning to enjoy the memories of the past for what they were when they were, and to not try to tear them apart by applying later feelings. I am learning to stomp out dread with determination. I am learning to reprioritize myself. I am learning to forgive. 
It seems only appropriate to end with my our girl India:

"I'm only human
Let's shake free this gravity of resentment
And fly high, and fly high
You're only human
Let's shake free this gravity of judgment
And fly high on the wings of forgiveness

I've searched for romance
Flowers and affection
What I found is a lesson
Of what love really is
Found the game of love is
Not about how much you can take
In fact authentic love is about
How much you can give

...

And I wanna let you know how much you changed my life
I wanna let you know you taught me how to fly
And I wrote this song to tell you this
I'm better cuz you taught me how to give"

--India.Arie, "Wings of Forgiveness" 

Maya

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 21--Letter to Something/Someone You've Outgrown

Dear Unwillingness-to-talk-to-my-father-about-anything-remotely-personal,

I'm surprised by how excited I am that I've gotten past you. This didn't happen through the normal outgrowth process of making a conscious decision to change something I don't like about my life, working diligently, getting frustrated that I'm not seeing progress, calming myself down and saying I think I can, I think I can until it was done. I don't know if I even realized I wanted to until by world was so thoroughly turned upside down that it just...happened. He called me that night, approximately 12 hours after it had all gone down, as I was leaving K's courtyard, and after initial consoling I-just-wish-bad-things-never-had-to-happen-to-you-because-you're-such-a-good-person and other protective Daddy-type things, he asked me if I wanted to talk about it. And I hesitated, but then said okay, and was taken a little aback by my own answer. I could tell he was started too. But then we...talked.
My dad and I have an...interesting relationship. We haven't lived under the same roof since I was an infant, and until I was 9 years old we saw each other once a week (sometimes twice if I was lucky). When my family moved from Mays Landing to Pleasantville for a year, he even moved to Pleasantville too, so as to not be too far from me. He was my reprieve from a far-too-troubled-for-any-9-year-old-to-have-to-deal-with life at home, my Superman, and my very best friend. And then he up and moved to Detroit after the Sands casino closed, and I felt so very alone in the world. For the first few years, I tried really hard to make it work. We talked on the phone every couple days, and I was really diligent about trying to fill him in on every little detail of my life. And then we had what I guess can be called our first falling out the week of my thirteenth birthday; he was supposed to fly back to New Jersey to visit me, the first time he'd have been home since he moved, but then his stupid girlfriend broke her stupid ankle and he stayed to take care of her. I resented him for it, and hated her. And I made the decision then to start weaning him from the intimate details of my life...I had a phone-Daddy, not a real live father who deserved that kind of information. Then my mother had the brilliant idea of sending me to spend 8 weeks with my father the summer before my freshman year of high school. He suddenly tried to start being my parent, rather than my buddy, and let's just say rebellious teenager Maya wasn't having it. We got into a huge fight and didn't speak for the last week and a half of my stay with him...or for about 4 months later. Afterwards, I became polite and cordial and called him approximately once a week out of a sense of duty. We finally talked about all of this sometime during my sophomore year of college, and he asked how he could fix things. I was...skeptical that things could be fixed.
But then they magically just, were. I didn't tell him everything, but I opened up to him more than I have in the past decade. I spoke to him freely about my life and who said what when and why it mattered. I explained to him why I felt so wronged--he had trouble understanding why it was such a big deal...men, lol. He listened to me when I was angry and he listened to me when I was sad and he was just there for me, saying encouraging things. He even offered to fly me down to visit him in Florida for a few days if I needed to get away from Princeton and "the memories". I felt like a little girl with a Daddy again...or maybe finally like a grown woman with a father she can rely on. Either way, it was a wonderful feeling. Especially when my mom wouldn't talk about it. He said on his mind all day while he was at work was me, and how I was holding up at work, and how I was going to get through this. He was so concerned about me. He loves me so much; I don't know how I ever forgot that. 
So good riddance, unwillingness. I'm glad you're gone. I can't believe I let you stay in my life for as long as I did. My dad deserves better than you. He deserves me. 


Maya

PS: I complained to some friends last week about how the ability of a person to come into your life, turn it upside down, and then leave and turn it upside down again without everything falling back into its original place was one of life's biggest injustices. But now I see that there is some beauty in this. Sometimes you have to be forced into changing the things that deserve changing the most. 

INSANE WHIRLWIND OF EMOTIONS cannot begin to accurately describe the past two days.

Extreme sadness. Hurt. Fury that almost scared me. Fear separately. Deep confusion, or maybe simply a profound lack of understanding.



All of those feelings are done now. Well I'm still sad that it's over, because I wanted to snuggle into this and stay there for a long while, but I feel nothing like the overwhelming _________ I was feeling. I feel surprisingly good right now. I feel like nothing was as bad as I'd thought/imagined/suspected/worried/feared. I am not a bad judge of character, and I would like to come out and publicly say to all of you who know me in real life and know the other person involved in this situation--he is not the villain here. This situation doesn't have a villain. It has two good people who made some bad choices and that's it. #theoppositeofpubliclyflaming


I'm not gonna list out all the terrible things that have been running through my head. They don't need mentioning, as they're all either flat out wrong, unwarranted, invalid, or have been deconstructed to the point of my being content. It may have felt at first like the world was ending, but up is still up, down is still down, and I don't think anything permanently damaging happened here. 



I have, however, learned a lot. And the things I have learned can be listed:

1.  It is entirely impossible to undervalue honesty, especially when you know the truth is going to hurt. 
2. Wanting to mean something is entirely different from meaning it. Changing your definition of something so that you can mean it isn't being honest either. 
3. Relationships are based on a lot of assumptions. It's probably a good idea to talk about things rather than assuming you're on the same page about X issue.
4. It actually shocks me that these words are about to come out of my mouth, but maybe it really is the thought that counts. Intentions mean something, even when they lead down unpredictable and hurtful paths. Sometimes people deserve the benefit of the doubt even in the most unfortunate situations.
5. Anger is actually an essential part of the healing process. 
6. My friends are awesome. But I already knew that.
7. Pain does not automatically negate all the previous joy a situation gave. Hurt does not erase prior happiness. I'm not saying "don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened," because I think that crying is a healthy part of LIFE in general, and it's important to be unabashedly sad when something makes you sad...but when it's all said and done, everything good that happened still happened. And that's what you should focus on. 
8. Your world should always be bigger than one person. I think I forgot that mine was for a little while until the support came rushing in from every direction while I was freaking out and I remembered that I have a whole network of people who love and care about me. 
9. Love is a nuanced, nuanced thing. It has so many layers and components and meanings and strivings. It varies from person to person and situation to situation. There are lots of things that love is. There are also lots of things that love isn't. And I'm still learning the differences, I think. Maybe we all are. 
10. Don't underestimate the benefits that can come from actually talking to someone who hurt you, instead of just festering in your own emotions. Every story has two sides. 
11. Analysis of every tiny detail of a situation is pointless and futile. Analysis of what major mistakes were made and what should have been done differently in those specific instances is an opportunity for growth that should not be overlooked. 
12. It is evidently possible for me to open up to my father under times of complete and total duress. It is also evidently impossible for my mother to let me open up to her during such times. This is unsurprising. Maybe I should be less freely open with my mother and talk to my dad more. 
13. I have no regrets. None. I might even want to change everything I've ever believed about exes and want to try to be friends. And on that note, I will pick a song:

And I'd choose you again...

The two artists I have the most music by are India.Arie and Eminem

As such, the two feelings I'm torn between are:

"And if he ever left me, I wouldn't even be sad, 'cause there's a blessing in every lesson and I'm glad that I knew him at all." --India.Arie, "The Truth"

and 

"when someone seems too good to be true, they usually are. But see, when you're in it it's too hard to see..." --Eminem, "Spend Some Time"

Not sure I'll ever make a decision between the two feelings. Not sure it's even possible. I am not sure how I'm not supremely angry or if I'll stay that way. I'm not sure what to believe about the past four months, except that for the sake of my sanity it can't be nothing. Not sure how long it will take to shake this sick-to-my-stomach feeling or to rebuild the ability to trust. Not sure you ever really know a person. Not sure how to make myself stop caring about him. Even less sure than I ever was before (not including the past three months) about what love ostensibly is. Not sure I'll ever really understand what happened here. 

I am sure I'll waste lots of time and energy trying to. I am sure that I feel humiliated, like I have been made a fool of. I am sure I'll throw myself into my independent work like nobody's business in a thinly veiled attempt to hide the fact that my life doesn't make sense to me anymore. I am sure that I was happy (albeit a different kind of happy) before this and I can be happy again after it. I am sure that there's a lot to be learned from this situation.  I am sure that I will never again undervalue the importance of complete and brutal honesty, especially when the truth hurts. I'm also pretty sure that I am (un?)fortunately too good a person to repeatedly flame him on this blog, because like I don't deserve this, I can't make myself believe he's a terrible enough person to deserve that, so I will try to avoid it (after this).

A DirectTV blimp just passed overhead saying "Change your life." My first reaction? I don't want to. But sometimes you don't have a choice. 

I will leave you with an excerpt from my favorite play, Ntozake Shange's For Colored Girls who've Considered Suicide/ when the Rainbow is enuf:

"My love is too beautiful to have thrown back on my face. [...]

My love is too sanctified to have thrown back on my face.

My love is too magic to have thrown back on my face.

My love is too Saturday night to have thrown back on my face.

My love is too complicated to have thrown back on my face.

 My love is too music to have thrown back on my face.

And you remember that the next time some man tries to walk away with all of your stuff. 

I know that's right. Or says I'm sorry a million times.

...

 It's ok. I asked myself how I could let that happen and I realized that I was missing something. Something so important. Something promised.

I suppose what I'm left with now is me time. More than time to analyze what happened here, I suppose I should go find what I'm missing to make sure it never happens again. Not that I'm blaming myself--mistakes were made on both sides--but something needs to change.

How did I get here?

Intimacy

I was young and naive once. Don’t laugh too hard,

we all were. And when I was, I equated intimacy with, well, sex.

Or the clandestine touching and kissing that may or may not

have been leading up to it. The rushed whispering of “Can I”s

and “Let me”s. The relinquishing of clothing.

The offering of oneself piece by piece. 
 

You have taught me that intimacy does not come in pieces.

That it is neither the desire for or the act of nudity, not its touch or taste.

It does not, in fact, even necessitate these things.

It is, perhaps, the feeling of nakedness, of wanting shamelessly

to lay myself bare before you. It is wanting to shout the boldest of “Let me”s,

“Let me give you all of me.” 
 

It is seeing that gift appreciated fully. It is learning the true meaning of the word

acceptance. It can play, like tickle wars in between bouts of kissing,

but that play has purpose--intoxicating, stimulating, your smile is the highest high

It is your tongue in the gap between my two front teeth, your words saying you

love even this hidden part of me. It is not caring whether I’ve shaved.

It is bed head and morning breath after the best sleep I’ve ever had every night with you.

It is wanting to spend every night with you. It is embarrassing stories from

elementary school and the tenderest of teasings. It is both talking freely and

having comfortably quiet time. It is knowing the weight of your head in my lap.

It is honesty. It is never needing to put on a brave face.

It is pure unadulterated fascination at the wonder that is you.

It is “I need us” over “I need you”. It is “Share my life.”
   

I used to believe that love was an impossible dream.

I once thought happiness was an emotion rather than a state of being.

I didn’t know growth could stem from joy.

I was blind to the difference between frenzy and fervor.  

In the past, I mistook physicality for intimacy.

30 Day Letter Challenge--Day Eighteen: To the Person You Wish You Could Be

Dear Maya of My Dreams,

You're actually seriously confident, instead of this fake bravado shell confidence you put forth now. You are no longer ashamed of things that shouldn't shame you. You can take a compliment. You will also be able to take criticism well. You're more open-minded, but haven't lost any of your beliefs. You meditate as often as you want to. You aren't afraid to admit that rock/alternative is probably your favorite music genre, despite the color of your skin. You now what you want, and then make plans and action steps to get it. You're strong without being a rock. You're smart without being reserved. You're spontaneous without being stupid. You choose wisely and love freely and live well. You spend less time on makeup and hair removal and appreciate your natural beauty. On that note, you accept that you are naturally beautiful. You accept and embrace your past, treasuring it because it made you who you are, and you will also be able to let the past go and realize that most of the things that happened then do not matter anymore. You find ways to compromise with other people without compromising yourself. You find a way to make each day an adventure, and a success. You respect yourself in your every thought and action. You know when to care what other people think and when to just do your own thing. You don't get nervous when you're speaking in public, and can remain outwardly calm in stressful situations. You don't feel like such a freak for not wanting the things most people want. You don't analyze your life so much. You're comfortable with your body. You have the most awesome jewelry organizer ever. You can make anywhere you go be fun, even if it's boring old ML. You still have the best best friends in the whole orld. You're better at keeping in touch with people. You try new things even if they scare you. You don't worry so much about everything. You're less of a perfectionist and less of a procrastinator. You're an optimist. You remember to send cards to people on their birthdays. You have a savings account with money in it...preferably more money than is in your checking account. You've gotten back in touch with your artistic side, preferably in the form of paint and/or clay. You make music again on a semi-regular basis. You are happy. You are loved, and you love in return. You've stopped setting such unrealistic impossibly high standards for everything. You know how to really relax. You are patient. You are tolerant. You come to terms with how you feel about spirituality. You have concrete goals. You're independent without seeming like you don't need anybody else, you are fierce without seeming angry. Hell, maybe you're even a little playfully dangerous. Your head and your heart are no longer at war. You've stopped biting your nails. 

You're generally an awesome person, and I'm striving to become more like you every day.

<3,

The imperfect (but still hopefully kind of cool) Maya of today