Freemont Street to Freedom

Eight years ago, my life changed with the push of a button.

I had recently turned 39 and was seriously questioning what I was doing with my life. I was working in St. George, Utah at the time on a travel assignment when I had one of the most profound, eye-opening, life-altering experiences of my life. It was just a few weeks before the end of my assignment there and then I would be returning home to Salt Lake. But I was feeling restless, unsettled. I felt like I just needed to go somewhere and do something out of the ordinary. I was close enough to Las Vegas that I thought I would just go down on a whim and spend a couple of nights there over the weekend. (I should emphasize at this point, I’m a planner – this is NOT like me!)

I had no interest in gambling, or shows, or “the strip” in general, so I was looking at other places and found a good deal at the Golden Nugget, which was also not too far from the Outlet stores, so I thought I would just walk around, do some shopping, and just generally relax. The Golden Nugget, as I would come to learn, was also on Freemont Street. Now, back in the day, there was something called the “Freemont Street Experience.” At the time, they only did it once a month, and I just happened to book my stay that same weekend.

Essentially, they shut down Freemont Street to any traffic and allow people to roam up and down the street, visiting the bars, shops, vendors, etc. Stages had been set-up at each end of the street and bands would play. Down a large portion of the street overhead displays were set-up and would show videos/light shows timed to music. And in case that wasn’t enough, there were two stretches where you could zipline down the middle of the street! At the time you had to have a wrist band to prove you were over 21, which I thought was “alcohol” related (and I’m sure that was part of it), but also because there were street performers. I ain’t talking clowns and magicians here – this is still Vegas, after all. There were shirtless cowboys giving lap dances; winged, bikini-clad female dancers, also giving lap dances, among other people wearing racy costumes – all of which could be enjoyed, or get your photo taken with, for a little donation, of course!

Normally, this would have been a little bit much for a good, little Mormon boy from Salt Lake, like me, but something was different this time. It didn’t feel evil, or even scandalous, it felt… fun? One of the reason’s I felt like I just needed to “get away” was because of how much I was struggling to understand my sexuality. I knew that I was “in the closet” at that point, but that I was still doing “all the right things,” (church, temple, etc.) and that – even though I genuinely felt blessed for doing those things, I also felt miserable, stuck – trapped really, and I didn’t know how to come to terms with what I “felt” (being attracted to men) and what I “knew” (that I was going to hell for being attracted to men).

Even now, I don’t know if I can describe my thought process. I saw what was going on around me and wanted to be a part of it somehow. I went back to my room, freshened up, got a bunch of cash, and acknowledged that because I had felt something inside me telling me that I just needed to “get away,” that I was just going to enjoy this night and maybe more importantly, I was going to LET myself enjoy it WITHOUT judgment.

And enjoy it I did! (No, I did NOT get a lap dance, because I’m still pretty shy, BUT I got pretty close!) Reflecting on that experience, part of the enjoyment was the anonymity. I didn’t know anyone there and no one knew me. They didn’t know “who I was” on the regular day to day. They didn’t know me with any labels. More importantly, they didn’t know my past or what I was struggling with internally.

This was the first time in my life that I felt like I could just be me.

I got my picture taken with several of the street performers – male and female alike – and I loved it! The only real challenge that night was trying to find other people to take pictures for me with my phone, but people were friendly and great and more than willing to help me out.

During all of this “letting my proverbial hair down,” one moment stands out in particular. One of the vendors had been watching me ask for pictures with a bunch of the male dancers walking around. I was standing by his cart at one point and he flat out asked me – without any reservation – “are you gay?” It wasn’t a judgmental question. It wasn’t dripping with disgust. He was genuinely curious about me. But no one had ever asked me like that before, with that amount of candor. I hesitated for a split second, but then nodded my head and said, “I am.” And the shackles around my heart fell away. The weight of all the shame, guilt, and fear I had carried with me for YEARS flew from off my shoulders. It was the first time I allowed myself to admit it – to say it! And to say it out loud – without fear of retaliation, without fear of being shamed or condemned? Well, it changed something within me.

That night will go down as one of the most influential experiences of my life. It was a turning point for me. Later that night I went back to my hotel room and prayed. I thanked God for an experience that I knew He had a hand in. It wasn’t accidental that I felt a need to get away. It wasn’t circumstantial that I happened to be close enough to Las Vegas to get away. It wasn’t coincidental that I was directed to stay at that particular hotel on that particular street on that particular weekend. That whole night, I felt a spiritual companionship that I still can’t fully explain. I didn’t feel dirty. I didn’t feel depraved. I didn’t feel lost, confused, or condemned – basically all of the things I would have expected to feel. I just didn’t.

I felt seen. I felt accepted. I felt like I could be myself AND still be acceptable. I had never experienced that before.

Which left me with a conundrum. Sure, I could go to Vegas and “be myself” where no one knew me, but what about when I go back home? It was heart wrenching in a way, because I now had had a taste of a kind of freedom I had wanted my whole life, but was convinced wasn’t possible for me. And yet, there it was. I had been “out,” I had been openly gay, and I had been accepted, not just in spite of it, but BECAUSE of it. But could I be that at home? Could I be that where people DID know me?

I ended my travel assignment and headed back to Salt Lake City. On the one hand, my heart lightened for having experienced true "authenticity," but on the other hand, my heart was also a bit heavy in a way, fearful of knowing what I needed to do…

I selected 2-3 close friends – friends that I knew would be supportive, even if they couldn’t relate – and I came out to them. I shared with them what I felt and who I really am. And they were so kind and loving and I will never forget how much that meant to me. While it felt liberating to a degree to finally be honest with a few people, I realized that – even though I was “being honest” – it didn’t mean that I was being “authentic” with myself. It was a little bit like opening up the closet door a bit and peeking out. And I was terrified. Terrified to come out fully because it meant never going back. It meant opening myself up to criticism, rejection, shame, punishment, condemnation, being thrown out of the church – I mean, I just didn’t know what the consequences were going to be or how hard it would be to navigate them. It meant voluntarily giving up safety for the unknown.

But I did know something. God knew ME. He led me to Freemont Street that night and stayed with me. He was there when someone asked me if I was gay and he was there to hear me say, “I am.” And He didn’t condemn me. He didn’t punish me. He didn’t cast me off into outer darkness. Quite the opposite actually. He supported me; He comforted me; He encouraged me. Ultimately, my fears were not about God, my fears were about what I had been taught about how God would see me. But what I had been taught, did not match my experience.

I sat down and I wrote. I poured out my heart and expressed the understanding I had at the time. Then I copied that into a blog post and waited for several minutes, my mind whirling, my breath quickening, my heart racing. There would be no going back. One more quick, silent prayer – than I clicked “publish.”

And there it was – in black and white; publicly expressed for all the world to see. “Other types of closets,” published on May 16, 2017, the day I formally came out of the closet; making 5/16 my “coming-out-of-the-closet-iversary,” or my “birthgay?” My “De-closeting Day?” My “Gay Day?” I’m not sure what to call it yet! 😊

While I’ve chosen this date to celebrate a turning point in my life, it certainly didn’t happen on just one day. I wrestled with my heart, my mind, with God – and I struggled, for years, to understand myself. Celebrating coming out of the closet isn’t just about “admitting” I’m gay, it’s so much deeper. It’s about accepting myself as person, for who I am, the way I am, without guilt, without shame, without judgment, criticism, or condemnation – all of which are the negative practices I spent a lifetime “perfecting.”

And it is still a journey. I still find deep-seated fears that need to be addressed. I still find new layers of acceptance that need to be achieved. While I had previously seen that as “evidence” that I wasn’t “there” yet (whatever that means), I realize now that those are not proofs that I’m not okay, they are, in fact, proof that I am on the right path – MY path, the path God meant for me to walk. Even though the road and the obstacles and scenery are different from anyone else, I know it’s my path and I’m grateful to be on it.

I’m not going to lie and say that after I came out everything was wonderful. In fact, kind of the opposite. Coming out made life harder because of the uncertainty; because I didn’t know how to “be this way” in the world, when all I had known was secrecy, shame, and hiding myself – my real self – from everyone. I’m still learning. I’m still growing. I’m still changing. But I am so grateful today to be who I am. I am so grateful for what I am learning on this journey and for finally finding peace within myself. And I am grateful to God. I am grateful that He has not only understood me, but encouraged me to be myself and to accept myself and has not once made me feel like I was someone deserving of punishment or condemnation. No one has ever punished me for “being me” more than I have.

I am learning to overcome that deep-seated, learned self-hatred. I am learning what compassion, love, acceptance, and forgiveness really mean. It will take more time, but I am also learning to offer myself what I have never been able to do before – unconditional love.

I just needed to come out of the closet to find it.

Enjoy some photos of my Freemont Street Experience! 😊

 

 

 

  

The Two Epiphanies

I recently had an epiphany about myself, or more accurately, about how I treat myself, which I’ll tell you about in a moment. After some time pondering over this epiphany, I was reminded of another epiphany I had about 12 years ago, which I’ll also tell you about in a moment.

My most recent epiphany was born out of some challenges that arose in my health and fitness journey; namely, an ultimately unsuccessful experiment with post-workout carbs (sweet potato, if you must know); an unexpectedly severe reaction to Mother’s Day carb-loading (bread and macaroni, also, if you must know); Which resulted in two days of calling in sick to work, and spending those days in bed, hiding under the covers and not wanting to face life – or even continue life – I’ll admit it, because I thought about it… and then, when I did finally get up the courage to go back out into the world, and get in a workout, I reinjured my knee from an old injury I’d had before (not severe, but bad enough to warrant some investigation).

Basically, I was in the dumps.

In trying to understand why things went south for me so quickly, I came to the realization that my initial reaction in life is to punish myself – for anything and everything. My epiphany was this: “I punish myself for being who I am AND I punish myself for NOT being who I want to be (or who I think I should be…).” When I say punish myself, what I mean is that I am mercilessly cruel in the way I talk to myself and in the thoughts I have about myself, which usually lead to some form of binging or “giving up” on myself in some way.

It was eye opening to me to realize that I put myself in a no-win situation. From this perspective I have been unable to see or acknowledge anything good about myself, such as making progress or even just not giving up sometimes. I could finally see how I have been holding myself back by the way I think about myself. I also saw that I have not been offering myself compassion for when things don’t work out the way I hope, or forgiveness for when I mess up or make poor choices, or even just allowing myself to be an imperfect human. Acknowledging that I don’t treat myself very well, I asked myself how I should think/feel about myself and this led me to recall a previous epiphany.

About 12 years or so ago, this would have been about 2005 or 2006, I was talking to a friend at work about relationships (we were both single at the time). As we ended our conversation she walked away, but then turned and asked me, “so, what are you looking for in a spouse?” I thought for a second and said, “I want someone who can see the potential for what I can become, but will still love me for who I am right now.” Even as I said it, it felt profound to me. That epiphany has been a yardstick for me, for every date or relationship I’ve pursued. It’s also been what I have promised myself I would do for someone else.

Here’s the kicker - somehow, in the last 12 years of my life, I never even once considered that I needed to apply that same attitude toward myself. Not once have I really considered my own potential – because all I could see was who I was not, i.e., who I “should have been.” Not once have I really loved myself for who I am – because all I could see was that who I am (a broken, weak, fat, ugly, man) wasn’t good enough. I punished myself – for being who I am and for being who I’m not.

I don’t know why these two epiphanies occurred 12 years apart. I don’t know why I had the answer for how I should treat myself for so long without realizing that I needed to apply it to myself. But I’m grateful to finally “see” it. I’m grateful because these epiphanies highlight what I need to DO in order to change my thoughts, my beliefs, and how I treat myself. Understanding is important, but it’s only half the battle. Now, I need to actually apply what I’ve learned. I need to see all the potential for what I could become, yet I need to love and accept myself for who I am – as I am – right now.

And no, that doesn’t mean “accepting” that I’m a broken, weak, fat, ugly, man. It means accepting that I am just a man – a human. A normally flawed, beautifully imperfect person who has just as many strengths as weaknesses; who has just as many gifts as handicaps; who has just as many talents as inadequacies; and who just wants to do the best he can in life. That’s worth something in this world and now I know to stop discounting that – to stop discounting me.

It’s wonderful when we can inspire and encourage someone to be more, to achieve more, to excel and to accomplish great things, but more often than not, those same people also just want to be loved for who they are.

Like me.

Perspective

Was it really just three months ago that I came to St George? How can I be leaving already?! Three months sounds like such a long time – how can it go so quickly?

As I drove into St George it felt so foreign. I had certainly been to St George and/or driven through before, but I didn’t have any connection to anything, so it was always just fleeting associations. But this time, I had to pay attention to everything because I knew I would need to remember how to get around. Far from being intimidating, this is what I love about going to new places – exploring! And I did a lot of exploring! The first few days, I looked at maps and just drove around – I had no idea there were so many suburbs and communities within St George! I don’t really know at what point things became familiar, but over time I started to get a feel for the city. 

I suppose what really had me worried was my work assignment. I knew at the outset that I would only be there for 13 weeks (I eventually extended two weeks, so it ended up being 15 total) and I wondered if the transitory nature of the job would affect whether or not I would fit in. Would people like me? Would they accept me? Would there be a caste system and would I, as a mere “traveler,” be on the bottom? Would they trust me as an SLP? Would they value my insight, when so much of the medical community seems to discount the validity of Speech-Language Pathologists, in general? Would I have to prove my worth to them somehow?

So before I went in on my first day I made a decision: be myself. I decided that worrying about whether or not they accepted me or if I would fit in was pointless and wasted energy. If I was myself and they didn’t like me then I couldn’t do anything about that anyway. At the very least, I would know that I didn’t try to alter myself to please someone else – something that has taken me a lifetime to learn. As I think about those first few days – that period of meeting people and analyzing personalities – I look back and realize something that wasn’t apparent at the time. I think people were more likely to accept me BECAUSE I accepted myself. Accepting myself led me to be honest in my actions, honest in my words, and honest in how I treated others. And I was accepted.

And somehow that acceptance grew into a genuine love for them. Here it is, three months later, and I feel like I’m leaving a family, not just co-workers. There were hugs, tears, gifts, laughter, and promises to keep in touch, but there was also the sense that I had made a home there and that this place – and the people in it – would somehow always be with me. With how busy I was to get everything ready to move back home, it didn’t really catch up to me until I actually drove away.  I had driven to Salt Lake and back several times during my stay there, but this time it hit me that when I went to Salt Lake – I wouldn’t be driving back. I guess perspective is funny that way – how it changes and how it can help you see things you didn’t see before. Perspective made me grateful – grateful for my time in St George, grateful for the people I met, grateful for how they helped me and loved me; grateful for how I changed by being there.

They made a valiant effort to keep me, too! I was honest from the beginning that I wanted to travel and I opted not to accept their offer of full-time employment, but I was so flattered that they would want me to stay. Side note: I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I like praise. If I’m being honest, there’s a very selfish reason I liked being in choirs, marching band and the odd play from time to time – I liked the applause! I suppose wanting to be recognized and admired is a fairly human trait, but for me it means something much deeper. Historically, I saw praise/recognition as an indication of my worth – the more people who recognized/praised me meant I was worth more (more than what, I couldn’t have said, but that’s beside the point…). I think for the first time in my life – that I can recall – I truly appreciated that the praise of the world meant nothing and paled in comparison to the love of these 5-6 people who wanted me to stay. That may not sound like such a big deal, but for me it is, because it’s a shift; a BIG shift - in how I see myself, how I see the world and my place in it. It means a shift in my identity and how I choose to define myself. It’s a realization that praise/recognition has no impact on worth, because worth is inherent – not measured in comparisons or praise.

So I say goodbye to my time in St George and more importantly, goodbye to the man I used to be. To my new St George family, I could never really say goodbye – because they, and what I learned from them, will always be with me. But to them, I say, “Thank you;” thank you for accepting me, for helping me grow. I am better for the time I spent with you and better for the influence you’ve had on me. 

Identity's "I AM"

I had an experience recently that brought up some inner turmoil that I thought I had resolved. As it turns out, I hadn’t resolved it completely. I think I needed to understand myself more deeply and so now, looking back, I am grateful that it happened.

I was at Kinstretch class and thought I was doing better. I felt like I noticed slightly more strength in various ranges of motion, but there was also a problem – the guy next to me. He was new – it was his first time ever at Kinstretch and he’d never done anything like this before. Quite honestly, I wondered why he was there in the first place. He was super thin, but very athletic looking. Because of the mirrors, it’s hard not to notice what everyone else is doing, and what I noticed was that this guy was doing awesome.

He was doing every move perfectly and wasn’t even breaking a sweat. I was only mildly annoyed, but I realized that we’re all different and we all have different abilities. Yeah, of course I was jealous; I wished I had the type of body that I could go into a fitness class I’ve never been in and kill it – without even breaking a sweat. But what finally threw me over the edge was what occurred towards the end of class. 

The instructor demonstrated a move where we had to lean forward against one knee with one leg stretched out behind. I tried to get into position, but couldn’t. My belly fat wouldn’t allow me to get into that position. That’s when I got discouraged and mad. It didn’t help that the guy next to me was, of course, “Gumby” and had no problem getting into position or doing the movement. Even more frustratingly, was that not only could I not do the movement, but I couldn’t even get into a position to do the “regression” or the modified/easier version.

I got mad. I was mad at myself for being so fat that I couldn’t even get into the right position to do the “easier” movement. I suddenly felt so stupid. I felt stupid for thinking I could do this. I felt stupid for being the only one in the class that couldn’t do it. I was embarrassed and ashamed of my body. I was sure that everyone who saw me thought I was a f*cking retard. I just wanted to cry. I just wanted to run. Does it seem like my reaction was maybe a little more intense than the situation warranted? I did too.

Afterward, I thought about why and then it dawned on me. Yes, the situation was difficult, but it was more about what the situation meant. It meant I was different. It meant I wasn’t like everyone else. It meant I didn’t fit in. All my life, all I’ve ever wanted was to blend in; to be unnoticeable; to be just “one of the guys.” And this situation was proof that I didn’t fit in; that I stood out for something negative; that I wasn’t just one of the guys. I was different and being different doesn’t measure up, especially when you’re fat.

It didn’t matter how hard I was working, I was never going to be as fit, healthy, or attractive as the guy next to me. And I hated myself for that. I almost quit that night. In fact, I emailed the instructor and told him that I was too fat to do this and I needed to cancel my membership in the class. When he wrote me back, he told me that I wasn’t giving myself enough credit for the hard work I was doing and he assured me that nobody saw me the way I described myself. The next day I talked to my trainer about my experience and we talked about how important self-love is. I understood what she was saying, but in my mind I kept saying, “that’s bullsh*t.” 

My internal argument went something like this, “telling me that I need to love myself is saying that I need to love being fat and I can’t do that, because I hate it. I hate how being fat feels. I hate what I see in the mirror every day and I hate how being fat limits what I can do. Furthermore, all those thin, skinny, athletic, beautiful people who say you just need to love yourself can say that because they ARE already thin, athletic and beautiful. Of course they love themselves – they are practically perfect!!! If I were that fit and attractive, I would love myself too! I am pretty sure that you take any one of those people and if they woke up one morning 100 pounds overweight, like I am, I am damn sure that they would NOT love themselves. I am positive that they would hate themselves being that way as much as I do. So no, I’m sorry, but ‘loving yourself’ when your fat and disgusting just isn’t possible.”

But how can you tell that to a thin, beautiful, athletic person? How could they possibly understand? They can’t.

This really bothered me. I took some time to think, meditate, ponder and pray about why I was feeling this way and how to change it. (Yes, I know positive affirmations can help; as does changing my self-talk; as does giving myself space to react with a different emotion, etc.) I just couldn’t put my finger on why this was so hard to resolve. I did more journaling and that helped me make a connection that I haven’t ever acknowledged before. In evaluating my “internal argument” I realized that my argument was really based on a very simple math equation:

I am = Fat

Essentially, what I believe is that the condition of my being fat is my identity – it’s who I am; It’s all of who I am and nothing else about me matters. Being fat = who I am. (And all of the negative associations I have with being fat or what “fat” represents!) So when someone says, “you just need to love yourself,” all I hear is, “you just need to love being fat.” How can the solution to someone’s problem be being told that they need to love what they hate about themselves? I can’t do that. I can’t love being fat. I hate how it makes me feel. I hate how it makes me look. I hate how much it limits what I can do. I hate how it destroys my confidence the second I step outside my door. All this time I have been agonizing over how to learn to love being fat (which I can’t do), when I have finally realized that that isn’t even the real issue. The real issue is the belief that being fat is who I am.

No one is just one thing. Just like how our bodies are made up of different organs. Our bodies are not our hearts, but our hearts are part of who we are. Our bodies are not our muscles, but our muscles are part of who we are. The truth is, I am fat. I am overweight. I’m carrying more adipose tissue on my body than is healthy. But that’s not ALL of who I am. It’s only a part. I made a list of what I think the “parts” are that make me up.

I AM MY:
Behaviors
Beliefs
Thoughts
Feelings
Perceptions/Senses
Memories
Character traits
Strengths/weaknesses
Body
Spirit

Taken alone, I am not any one of these things; and yet, each one of these things are a part of me. My problem isn’t acknowledging that I’m fat. My problem is thinking that that’s the only thing that matters. Or that “that’s just who I am.”

My Kinstretch instructor was right. I wasn’t giving myself enough credit for all the hard work I am doing in class, because I can’t see that determination and a desire to improve are as much a part of me as being fat. I can’t appreciate the courage it takes to be fat and yet pursue health and fitness – knowing that I’m going to come face to face with people I’m jealous of, and people I’m likely to compare myself to (i.e., my “little-blue-shorts-guy” post…).

The other problem that I had never seen before is – if I do believe that who I am is fat, then who am I without it? That’s a real identity crisis and completely contradictory to my goals. If I am fat, but then I’m trying to lose fat, then I’m losing my identity. If who I am is fat, then I need to be fat in order to be who I am. Is it possible that, in spite of the last 9 months of diet and exercise, I haven’t lost any weight because deep down I’ve been afraid of losing myself?

I think I’ve fundamentally misunderstood the statement I AM as well. To me, that statement is permanent. If I AM something then I have to be that something all the time. For example, if I AM fat, then I have to be fat ALL the time, because that’s who I am!! I think that’s why I can’t say positive things about myself like, “I am smart,” because I’m not always smart – sometimes I do really stupid things!! I can’t say, “I am strong,” because sometimes I’m really weak – physically and spiritually. It doesn’t feel honest to say that I am something, when I’m not that something all the time. But on the other hand, it also means I don’t give myself credit for being those things sometimes. Is there a way to reconcile all of this? Is there a way to say that I am something positive, while acknowledging that I’m not that way ALL the time? I don’t know. I hope so.

I think it may have to do with seeing ourselves completely. Meaning, acknowledging the good and the bad. I think it means acceptance of all of who we are, knowing that we all have various traits that could be "good" or "bad" depending on how we use them. Maybe it just means accepting that we are human and that each of us is constantly evolving. Maybe my self talk needs to be that I question myself and ask, "is this one thing all of who I am? If not, what else am I in this moment? Or, is this one thing something I like about myself, or do I want to change it?"

For example, the next time I'm at Kinstretch and I can't do a move, I can acknowledge it and ask myself, "okay, I can't do this move; is my inability to do this move - due to being fat/inflexible - all of who I am? Is this something that I want to improve? Then I can try to find a way to approximate the move, or I can ask the instructor what other options I can try." It doesn't mean I have to give up. It doesn't mean the being fat is a barrier I'll never be able to cross. It doesn't mean that being fat is all of who I am; nor does it mean that who I am is worthless, or stupid, or any other unkind label I can come up with.

It feels to me like there are different types of acceptance:
1) acceptance can mean something is permanent and unchangeable. "This is the way it is." e.g., "I just have to accept that I'm fat and I always will be."
2) acceptance can also mean something is the way it is - for now. e.g., "I just have to accept that I am fat for now, but I don't have to always be this way."
3) acceptance of uncertainty (is this faith?). "I just have to accept that I am fat for now, and maybe I always will be even though that's not what I want, but even if I am, I still know that I'm okay." Or, "I accept that I may always be fat, because being fat is not all of who I am."

What do you think? How do you define yourself? What is your identity based on?

Things I learn from Aphasia

I have class devoted to learning about Aphasia, which is a language disorder as a result of a traumatic brain injury, usually a stroke.

We watched a video of a conference that was held focusing on how to best counsel people with Aphasia. It was pretty interesting, but the thing that impressed me was the very humanistic approach that was adopted. One thing in particular that stood out to me was a quote that was shared that had no attributable author. I loved it so I've re-typed it below (preserving the punctation):

Anonymous Meditation
"We think we get over things.
We don't get over things
Or say, we get over the measels but not a broken heart.
We need to make that distinction.
The things that become part of our experience never become less a part of our experience.
How can I say it?
The way to "get over" a life is to die.
Short of that, you move with it.
Let the pain, be pain, not in the hope that it will vanish
But in the faith that it will fit in.
Find its place in the shape of things
And then be not any less pain but true to form.
Because anything natural has an inherent shape
And it will flow towards it.
And life is as natural as a leaf.
That's what we're looking for
Not the end of a thing, but the shape of it.
Wisdom is seeing the shape of your life
Without obliterating (getting over) a single instant of it."