I used to stay up late—fingers crossed, biting my bottom lip—hoping so hard that life would be good.
That tomorrow would be sunny.
That I would always be happy.
I tired to trust that life would only bring me joy. Goodness. Beauty. Deliciousness.
And it didn’t.
Of course it didn’t!
I was devastated.
But after a few horrifying (and inspiring) years of swimming in darkness, dancing with my shadows and learning some brutally beautiful lessons—I have a new manifesto:
I trust that life will bring me the experiences I need. The ones my soul secretly cries out for, the ones my heart quietly thirsts for.
I trust that life will give me the experiences I require to grow—to transform, to heal, to open.
To become who I really am.
Some of those adventures (as I like to call ’em) will be joyful and beautiful—some will be painful and challenging as hell.
I accept that.
I cherish that.
Because I know I can navigate the icy-cold waters of difficulty, just as well as the satisfying peaks of success.
I know I can face pain. And love. And truth. And heartbreak. And anxiety.
I’m learning to trust life, sure, but really—I’m learning to trust myself.
I trust that I can take a deep breath and lean on my own heart.
I trust that I can care for myself, with unwavering tenderness.
I trust that I can survive embarrassment, failure and shame—and making a ton of not-so-pretty mistakes.
I trust that I can collapse into a pile of tears—and pick myself back up, proudly.
I trust my strength—my wisdom, my power, my intuition, my vulnerability.
So I take my own hand, as I wake in the pale pink morning light,
And greet the day—
Sunny or rainy,
Smiling or crying,
Excited or dreading,
I take a deep breath
And smile, just a little bit.
I step onto the sand-colored carpeted floor,
And face the sparkling waters of the unknown
With fresh curiosity.
And there is a little breezy whisper inside me, that says—
“I got this.”
Author: Sarah Harvey
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Photo: Flickr/anton petukhov