Sorry, I Was Talking To Myself

“You among all beings have the right to see me weak.” -Pablo Neruda

You should never be embarrassed.

My friend and I have been working on this theory that there are no right or wrong decisions. There are just the decisions you make. No right, no wrong, no questions. And therefore there is no need for regret. You cannot ask yourself if you made the right decision – if you are on the right path – because the thing is that there is no wrong path. You are on your path. This is the path you were going to take, and yes that decision helped shape the path but it is the decision you made due to years of becoming a person and miles of influence all around you. You made a decision. It wasn’t right or wrong it was just yours.

We are all paralyzed with the fear of making the wrong decision, and therefore make no decision and stare at blank walls wondering when we will wake up knowing exactly who we want to be. We are raised by parents who worked themselves skinless to ensure for us any future we wanted, and here we are too overwhelmed and confused to know what that future might be.

We forget that there are good things about having choices. We forget that there is purity, integrity in an independent decision. That you get to be in league with yourself, protective and reckless and brave and colorful. The wild lovely infatuating confidence of picking. Pick something. Get moving with it.

There will always be the path not taken – the life you could be living.

But there is no worth in thinking about that for more than a nostalgic moment. Don’t leave your mind on the other path when you could be working to make this one bloom the way you want.

“My least favorite thing about you is how much you don’t like yourself.” -Julia Nunes on “That Was Us”

Dogs have such small heads. It seems wrong for something that holds a being’s entire existence to fit so comfortably and vulnerably between my palms. This brown-peppered dachshund with a thin red leather collar running around this sun-bleached coffee shop. Old men standing outside the window stop and lift their fingers up to the glass where his nose follows them. When they walk away, he follows them along the window and squeaks his broken heart out.

Shout out to Catfish & the Bottlemen for soundtracking my day.

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