February 25, 2019

A Love Letter to the Big Dreamers with the Tender Hearts.


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Hello there, my sweet, sensitive friend.

It can feel hard sometimes, this thing called life.

Our hearts can get bruised and feel tender, our spirits fed-up and withered.

Maybe we’ve fought through hell to be standing here today. Maybe we’re still fighting to be who we truly are.

But I wish that we wouldn’t listen when the world tells us to armor up.

What we have is so precious—an ocean of calm, of healing, of feeling, of deep knowing inside us.

And when we go to that place, oh, when we let our hair down and dive into those cherished emerald pools—there is the slow, steady untangling of the knot in our gut, that familiar sense that we have to be everything to everyone. That we have to hold the weight of the world on our shoulders and fix other people’s problems all the time.

But when we go to that sea-like place within, spaciousness opens up, and all that was roaring begins to…whisper. It’s so tender. It’s so strong.

Like us, my sensitive friend.

Sometimes, I think that this is what the world needs more of:

This sort of profound serenity.

There is enough fire. Enough intensity. Enough chaos.

We, the dreamers, with big hearts and ocean eyes—let us bring the water.

Let us bring it in words, in songs, in art, in waves, in dance, in tears, in the wild wonder of letting our hearts show.

Let us bring the warm winds of compassion that are gently braided into our smiles.

Let us bring the rock-solid ability to care so deeply about each other, ourselves, and this world.

Let us bring the balance, the tenderness, the expansive realms of poetry, and the cleansing rivers of our tears.

Let us bring the love—love so soft it drapes and blankets the world in a smattering of goosebumps, like the twinkling stars in the inky night sky.

Because we know…

There is such power in spaces that are not loud or showy. Spaces that stretch with a raw sort of yearning—where our imagination can spark buds into lush blooms of reality.

And yes, this world can feel awful, busy and jarring, loud and just plain cruel.

But we are a part of it, this world.

And there is such beauty, such depth, meaning, and joy in it, too.

We are the dreamers.

We live in shades of aquamarine. We come alive under the silver of the half-full moon. We dance with our shadows. We feel. We dive. We embrace. We cry.

Oh yes, we feel so much.

May we bring forth the strength of our watery, empathic hearts, our deep wells of understanding, and all the incredible wisdom that comes when we honor who we are.

Oh yes, when we become who we are meant to be.

May we bring our breath, the vast seas of our intuition, the tender-knit knowing of humanity.

May we stand up against racism, sexism, and hold space to empower those who are scared to speak to reclaim the resounding glory of their voices.

‘Cause we don’t need to be buried by what the world groans on and expects us to be. We don’t need to armor up or become someone else.

And we certainly don’t need to be any less sensitive.

Not. At. All.

Our sensitivity connects us to other people, to the divine, to the earth.

May we remember who we are.

May we always tend to ourselves kindly, too, unfurling our tendrils in the radiant quiet, and loving on our own giant, dripping hearts as we graciously and passionately fill ourselves up as often as we can.

May we go forth knowing how powerful and sweet our softness is.

The world thirsts for it. I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but it does.

Because, my sensitive friend, I swear—

To be soft is to be bold.

To slow down and rest is an act of delicious rebellion.

To be tender is to start a revolution.

Our sensitive hearts can make waves and create change in the most nourishing ways.

And just to clear up a couple of things—we are not weak. We are not naïve. We are not “too nice.”

No—we are who we are, and sensitivity is embedded in our every cell.

And our sensitivity becomes a true gift when we honor it, care for it, protect it, hold it close, and accept it.

Otherwise, it can feel like a burden, a cage, or a curse.

But my sweet and tender friend, it’s not.

It’s the way the balmy, floral breeze whispers on a slow, spring day and you just feel…alive.

It’s the indescribable color of the ocean after it rains.

It’s the vivid blades of lime green grass in the summer and the scent of magnolias, juicy and plump with nectar.

Our sensitivity makes us so…alive.

We don’t need to hide. We are called to be in this world, flesh and bone.

We belong.

Let us bring our dreams here.

Yes, into this world that is often hot and fast, unfair and loud, harsh and intense.

We, the dreamers, with our big hearts and ocean eyes—let us bring the water.

Let us bring those drops of softness that can change everything.



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