Trust your gut.

I don’t know if I should post this.

I don’t know if I should post this.

I don’t know if it’s safe.

This is public, after all.

These are not “just” words.

And if words are “just” words, then what’s the point of saying them at all?

I want to find something meaningful to say.

More to the point, I want to do something meaningful.

I become unhappy when I feel unfulfilled.

I become unhappy when I feel meaningless.

But this is not about me.

I don’t want to be recognised “for me”.

I want to say something, do something, be something that is recognised and powerful in its own right.

In essence, I want to transcend myself.

But I, you, we, cannot escape ourselves. This is, and will always be, the struggle.

Or perhaps not.

Perhaps the real struggle lies not in the struggle itself, but the persona it takes on.

That old adage, ‘I think, therefore I am’, feels poignant right now.

So, I am not struggling: I am trusting. Or learning to, rather.

I am learning to trust myself.

It’s a minefield.

There is no rulebook.

I am writing it.

I was unwell this week. A stomach upset, ironically.

Or perhaps not ironically — perhaps the correct term, within this context, is “aptly”.

My body is, was, telling me something.

The body is a powerful vessel: underestimate it at your peril.

I am healing, now; it is better than it was.

But I am better than I was, too — in every sense of the word.

I am learning to listen.

It goes against every pre-conditioned instinct, but rules can — and have to- be broken.

And sometimes, there is such freedom in it.

Such joy. Such beauty.

The happiness is as real as the pain, and they exist in perfect harmony.

This is the way it has to be.

This is the way it was, is, meant to be.

This is discovery.

And like a child, I am laughing; and like a child, I am living.

And for a moment, everything is simple.

And I sit and I feel and I stay, and I am humbled.

And I sit and I feel and I stay, and I am comforted.

Thank you for listening.