It’s great to have noble intentions, just as it’s commendable to have goals, hopes, and dreams. But those things do not come to fruition without hard work – blood, sweat, tears…down-in-the-trenches rigor and execution. Period. To expect things to manifest on their own, without a little “backup” from you, is a quick route to disappointment (“dreams don’t work unless you do” sound familiar?)
Intentions are powerful, make no mistake, but the magic happens when we apply effort to them – without such action, they cannot (and *will not*) be “taken seriously” in the empyrean sphere. So says the Universe…
Once upon a time I worried about what people thought. I worried about if they’d like what I was wearing, if I looked silly, or if the things I enjoyed weren’t “cool.” But it didn’t last particularly long, those worrisome spells, because I simply couldn’t mold myself to fit within the confines that others did.
Boxes didn’t work for me, and I made myself sick – in the short time I tried to care – trying to figure out what I was “supposed to” do, and “supposed to” be. Based on someone else’s definition, by the way. I was like a dodecahedron trying to fit into a triangular shape – I had so many facets, I’d make a gemologist spin, and the “mold” simply didn’t work.
I feel like that was fortunate for me, though. . .because I learned to just do my thing and be, unabashedly, my curiously off-beat self. It’s so much easier when you don’t have to squeeze yourself in to other shapes. It’s SO much easier being authentic than having to remember the details of the “lie” that you pretend to live.
The world doesn’t need more conformists…it needs the beautiful variety that all of us bring to life. It’s not only okay to be you, it’s what you, and everyone else deserves. If someone takes issue, that’s okay – that’s for them to worry about.
Do your thing, and be ridiculous if you want to. Even if it means wearing obnoxiously-printed leggings, leg warmers a la 1982, and Thundercat shoes at age 38.
Happiness is the heart of the beholder. ❤
I’ve done this – which applies to introverts, empaths, INFJ types 1,000% – so many times I can’t count!
I’m NOT a phone person. I don’t want people to call. I don’t want messages. I don’t even want notifications of messages!
Courage isn’t always that stoic, fearless lion’s face people post all the time. It isn’t necessarily stronger than the storm, like quotations always say…
Courage isn’t necessarily so earth-shattering that anyone else even sees it but you. . .
Often, it is that gentle whisper in your ear. . .that feeling within you that says, “I have tomorrow to try again.”
Don’t give up, or allow discouragement to take hold – small steps are still progress. One day at a time is more that good enough.
This quotation jumped out at me when I saw it posted in the ether some time ago… It rings so very true for me. I couldn’t say whether it is a result of an empathic heart, INFJ tendencies, or the heavily-leaning introverted side of a potentially ambiverted personality. . .
My solitude is my sanity, and there are times when I must shut out all but what my body does involuntarily – my beating heart, and a chest which rises and falls like the tides, my sole companions.
For a long, long time, the thought of anyone in my space bordered on “terrifying.” It was not specifically a fear of loss, whether to freedom, or privacy, or presence…but more that my soul needed the expanse in which to re-calibrate and recharge. It felt almost like an affront to my very essence to have someone impede spatially in my life – as if I had no sanctuary my own.
I’m still a lot like a lone wolf, but there is one person with whom I am blessed beyond rhyme and reason to have in my life. And he…he won me over so much so that his presence challenged my comfort zone…and single-handedly defeated it.
Yes, yes…that’s what I said. Ice Cream for Goth chicks.
If lactose wasn’t so vehemently opposed to my stomach, and ice cream wouldn’t so zealously affix itself to my body, I would be seeking out Little Damage Ice Cream forthwith.
I don’t *totally* get the “unicorn” craze – I can respect the love of iridescence, absolutely, but I feel like this is getting to be a little overboard. Whatever. . .I’d go crazy for black ice cream regardless, just because…but as it squashing the overwhelming barrage of rainbow swirls left and right, I have to say I’m smiling ear to ear. . .
Goth girl getting back at the illusory and evanescent concept that is the prismatic unicorn? Maybe. . . But I think it’s more directed at the onslaught of look-at-pink-and-blue-sparkly-anime-eyed-me’s.
I’m not a trend follower, though – there it is. I lean towards the caliginous so despite my personal penchant for glitter, I’d ditch it for black without a second thought.
I mean, black and red ombre?! Holy shit, I’m in heaven!!!
All I can say is these cones, black as night, and the dark-and-dreary hued ice cream is up my alley and beyond. Had this been more prevalent when I was little, you better believe I’d have had it in place of birthday cake at my parties. Too bad, five year-olds, you can deal without pink for five minutes.