Changing Perspectives

485504631_f743212a70_oYou are on your way to a family gathering. As you stare out the window wondering who all is going to be there, the ones you know and the distant relatives you’ve never met, your sibling pipes up with their shred of knowledge,
“Agh, Susan is going to be there. She’s the worst, all she ever does is talk about herself.”
You consider the statement, not having any prior experience with Susan, you side with this story, and plan for a meeting with your “self-centred” cousin.
When you are eventually introduced, all you notice are the things Susan does, particularly her choice of conversation topics. As the evening moves along, you now have a reservoir of all the things she has said about herself, further confirming your hypothesis about her, though based on outside opinion.
Now what if someone had told you that Susan was the most fascinating person you will ever meet? What if they said she was funny, interesting and caring? Maybe you would have looked for those things, maybe you would have something to support that idea.

We all have a perspective. We have a way that we are interpreting our world. A way that we see the past, present and future. Just like someone who colour-blind sees a banana differently than you, so everything in your world receives a similar variance in interpretation. Sometimes our interpretation comes from our curious interest, like a child discovering that the hot stove is red for a reason. Other times, our interpretations are shaped by what others have told us about life.

Regardless, there is a reality inside of our head, all of what we believe to be happening. This “reality” creates experience, memories, regrets and ideas. Sometimes, the reality that we see isn’t so favourable to us. Like when you walk into a room and it seems like everyone is staring right at you, sending mind bullets of disapproval right into your brain. When everything in your day seems to be going against you, or you are lost in the confusion of what to do. When pain arrives, when pleasure dissipates. When your heart beats faster, and your lungs expand quicker and quicker. When the noise is loud, and the lights are bright.

You are always experiencing something in a certain way. But when you are certain about how it is being experienced, then life seems to only have one hand of cards dealt for you.
So why do we often believe only the negative things about ourselves and our experience? Why do we allow our perspective to be one of guilt, anxiety, fear and insecurity? Somehow we have been convinced that the way that we see things must be the way that they are, but maybe they are not that way at all.

What if we could see our perspectives for what they are? Simply…perspectives. One side of the story, one flip of the coin. One grain of sand, a drop of rain in a thunderstorm, a star in the sky. Believing this, could we decide that we want to see things differently, and allow the flow of infinite sight into our lives? Could we set ourselves free from the traps of “this is always the way it will be” and open up to a “how will I see this?”. What if we questioned everything, especially whatever it is that tells us we are anything but amazing?

People will always tell you what is. Because, as A. Hughman would say, “It is the certain who stop searching”. And maybe a lot of us don’t always want to be searching. It is scary territory, to say the least. But when you search you have agreed that there is more, you have decided that what you know now can’t be all there is. And maybe we need to remind ourselves of the uncertainty of all that we think we know in order to let go of the ways that we are stuck. All the ways we let ourselves think that we are not capable of seeing more.

Are we only seeing one side of the story, yet writing the script like we know it all? Everything we do is from our perspective, and our perspective shapes everything we do. Why not change it for the better?

Photo Attribution




You are worth it.

Every tear, every fear
every time you feel burdened to be better
every time you fight artificial reality
every hurt, unwelcomed yet accepted.

We can come to trust that life isn’t fit for us. Like we don’t belong into
the world we were brought into,
as if it was for somebody else.
That somebody else that we try to become, the one that creates a comfortably numb, lonely one with the one that is the world.
To be the same, just to be sane, confusing security with what remains.
A disconnect between who we are and what we’re not, as if the answer is in our failures until we seek them not.
As if we knew all along, but failed to comprehend.
As if it is as easy as pressing a button to be on the other side of the canyon, looking back at man like “what happened, I made it”

If this self is all we’ve got, we better learn to enjoy it.
You will never escape it no matter how much you want it.
A body to hold your soul, lest it crack under the pressure.
Let it be wholesome and treasured, like a diamond in the rough.

Life is rough, but there is beauty in it. If pleasure had no opposite, pleasurably I decline. For this life is mine to define, yet not by what I am not.

I have forgot, I have lost. Who I am right now in search of what I have not caught.
It is not a sickness to be had, nor a cure to be sought, it is an acceptance of the fact that you are worth every, single second that you got.

So stop saying you aren’t worth it.
Stop saying you aren’t good enough.
Stop saying it like you mean it, I don’t believe you
You have purpose.
Stop letting yourself be less than, what you have every right to be.
Stop forgetting that you deserve it, because you are meant to be free.
Stop saying they are better, for are they not human too?
You have the same mind to comprehend, what is equally yours too.

You are worth it.
You are loved.
You are a name, a soul, a self-seeking mystery.
You are amazing, just because you are the first to be you.
You are the purpose, for the pain,
a redeemer of shame.
You are one, who is loved.
You are all of the above.


Twitter: Beloved_Blog



Is it time to stop over analyzing?


I tend to give everything meaning. Positive meaning, negative, doesn’t matter. Most things that happen to me in a day are usually analyzed to have depth of meaning. Sounds like a lot of work, I know. I think that happens as a result of wanting to be in control, wanting to know what comes next, wanting to understand where people are coming from. Sometimes I associate meaning with things that perhaps don’t need one at all.

We do this all the time in romantic pursuits. I doubt anyone can say they have never attached undue meaning to another’s actions in order to understand the intent of their behaviour.

I want things to have meaning because that means I might be able to understand it. I might be able to figure it out, even just a little bit. If he sent me that text, it must mean something. If they didn’t show up, they definitely are not interested.

Life just gets a little simpler if we know the meaning of it.
Wait, no it doesn’t.

Does it even have meaning, or is it all meaningless? Are we supposed to know how to interpret what things carry meaning and what does not? Am I too fast to interpret, to quick to jump to conclusions? Do we need to refrain from associating meaning?

To tell the truth, it is all quite overwhelming. Being a deep thinker definitely has its downfalls. Especially when you make someone out to be someone other than who they are, simply because you are trying so hard to understand them.

Yet, amidst the confusion, I think that everything really does have meaning. Everything has a purpose, everyONE has a purpose. But maybe we don’t have to understand it for meaning to exist. Maybe the mystery of living among a population so wonderfully different than you is what keeps it interesting.

Do we really think we can figure each other out? Do we even want to?

What might it look like to accept the mystery? To not know what comes next, to be surprised by people?

Would our relationships crumble under the confusion, or would they revel in the mystery?

For anyone who is an over thinker like me, it sounds quite terrifying. Yet still I hope to be surprised. I hope that my negative thoughts may be proven wrong, I hope to learn from people. If we are less prone to attaching meaning, people might have a better shot at a second chance. If we let people change, we let them remain a mystery. Perhaps we could have the space to spend our time discovering their unique beauty rather than shrinking them into our idea of who they should be.

I like meaning, because it is exciting and it brings understanding. But I think we could all use a little more mystery. Sometimes not knowing is what can bring us to trust in better things. To trust the best in someone rather than the worst. To assume good, forgive the bad.

I can be so quick to complain of the society that tells me who to be and what to do, while at the same time convincing myself of meanings more false than any advertisement.

I believe life is meaningful, we need to believe in that. But not understanding the meaning doesn’t mean you are lost. Stepping into the unknown takes more courage then standing back to admire your superior understanding ever will.

It is meaningful. It is mysterious. It all matters.

YOU can BE the change


Sometimes it boggles me how the world got to where it is now. At least our North American culture that is. It seems that we spend hours upon hours online or reading books about how to overcome the difficult parts of life. Rejection, failure, oppression, improvement etc… There is no end. The self-help section of a book store sees insurmountable levels of attention. 
The reason this seems odd, is that we seem to be okay with things remaining the same, as long as we can gain advice on how to not let it suck the life out of us.
If people are what got us to where we are today, why can’t people change it?
Having a dream seems to be a scoffed ideal nowadays. People will tell you to get an established career and seek out your passions on the side, just so you are secure and safe.
After many years of progression into our current state of affairs, what would it take to change it?
It is no secret, it takes PEOPLE to change it.
There is no miracle, big bang or one person who is going to solve it. There is no quick fix. But that does not mean there is no hope.

No, it means you need to fight for your dreams because they matter.
Fight for them because they create meaning and purpose for you. When other people see it maybe they will go after it too.
If people got us to today, people will get us to tomorrow.

Going with the flow is easy, but if the flow doesn’t give you purpose then what is the point? It is easier not to push back, but otherwise you will be headed in a direction you never intended to go.
What is the point in living a life of security in a society that you dislike, around people that have different goals than you?
If life has one purpose, I would propose that it is simply that: PURPOSE. and if you don’t seek it, nothing will change.

It is easy to say. Much harder to do. I have a lot to learn, and a lot of mistakes to make before I even approach the fulfilling of a purpose, but all I know is I want it. I want it so bad. I want to be able to say I did not settle for what was expected, but I did something completely different. I want to be able to say that I sought out my unique passions, no matter the cost. I want to be able to say that I loved fiercely, fought hard, and didn’t stand for the things that meant nothing to me.

I want you to say those things too. I want you to fight for what you want because no one else is going to. I want you to believe that this world has a space for you, and only you can fill it. I want you to believe that your differences are important, the way you see things is important. I want you to know that money and success are overrated, and success is what you make it. I want you to believe that you do not have to settle.

When you stop settling, you may not see a change, but it is there. Being alive in your passions is sure enough to spark the world on the path of purpose. That is a beautiful thing that we are all capable of.


** This blog was written with the help of an instrumental, as most of these are, check out:

Nothing Was The Same – Young Oceans

An Honest Conversation on Spirituality


Sometimes I find myself wanting to leave.

Sometimes the wrong outweighs the right. Even in a place that stresses “Come to me”, it seems nothing is as easy as it seems.
If a perfect creator expected perfection, how could that be perfect? How could one overcome all of the powerlessness if not to be more powerful?

See it is skewed, it is frayed, every line crossed must eventually fade. Into a new boundary, one that expects conformism and acceptance. A God that seeks forceful justice, compliance and law-abiding citizens.

We argue over technicalities, as if choosing what bread is blessed, or what grape juice is the best, will bring a perfect God into an imperfect world.

I wonder if He sees us, and knows that we will never really be free. At least not through all of the things that we put at the forefront, all of the things that we use to make us happy, temporarily.
We struggle in silence, and blame it on each other. We think that successful independence will somehow defeat considering the mere possibility of a creator.

Just so you know we are all confused.

You may struggle to see how hate exists from followers of a God that is supposed to be love.

I struggle to understand a faith that means you don’t have to.

It is terrifying and it is grey. We may pretend to be content, but inside we are the same. We are all human.

You and I, we both search.

I hope to God that I am right, because it is the only thing that makes sense. I envy your certainty, I am certainly not judging you for what you believe. Your answers may seem clearer than mine, and for that reason sometimes I wish I was writing the same test. Sometimes I wish that I didn’t have to see any other side than this.

Because it is uncertain, it is uncomfortable, it is confusing and yet claims to be everything there is to be. Faith wants your soul, not just your hands, your spirit and everything you will ever be.

I will never say that I am right and you are wrong, all I know is I have to try. Dissatisfaction will inevitably follow everything I do if I do not see that there is a reason for it, and hope within it. You may call it destiny, fate, karma, time or predestination. However you see the future, all I know is I need to see one.

What I know is Love. The most immense aspect of my brief existence is that notion of love. The understanding that I am valuable, loved and needed. The purest love that gives purpose to the smallest of dreams, and the ones that seem insurmountable. I need to have that purpose. It gives me guidance, it gives me hope, love gives me reason.

A reason to fight through the bad days because there is something better that awaits.

A reason to love others desperately, for everyone should know the power of this thing we know as love.

Maybe it comes from God, maybe it comes from within yourself.

Maybe both are meant to co-exist, and it was us who decided to choose between.

If He says you are beautifully and wonderfully made, it would not change or disappear based on your opinion. If love were that fleeting I am not sure I would want it.

However you know love, I pray to God you would seek it. With all of your heart please do not ever stop.

I do believe that I have felt the love of God, though many days I reject it. As if not accepting it meant that I was now unworthy of even getting it. I thought that I needed to earn it, telling myself that I needed a reason to be accepted. A reason to receive love. But if what the Bible says is really true then those days are over. We just forgot that new days were coming.

I do not represent rejection, instead I accept imperfection, for I was never better inside four walls then I ever will be any where else.
I do not represent exclusion, for if we cannot share in love then truly we must be missing the point.
I do not represent judgment, God knows I am no angel, instead maybe we could see each other as equals, and approach the future together.

If I could represent anything, it would simply be love. I know that many days I will fall short, but I figure if they know me by my love, that is better than any religion.


I really love talking about spirituality, God, love and doubt. If you have questions or would like to continue the conversation, email me! . I would love to hear your thoughts.

A Blank Canvas

A while back I wrote a blog about staying inside the lines, and how we try so hard to stay within the boundaries or expectations that are set for us. Yet it is so desperately unfulfilling. Here is a story of similar nature, depicting life as what we think we are supposed to make it, and then what it could be if we took control of our full potential and passion. You always have the chance for a blank canvas, and you always have the chance to start over. 



So here we are. This is where it all started. This is what we were meant to have. A blank canvas. Nothing broken, nothing messy, nothing confusing, nothing at all. But while it is blank, it is beautiful. New birth. Something about looking at a baby in their innocence is so incredibly beautiful. No marks, no lines, no scars or pain. We want so desperately to uphold that for them, but in our own experience of the world, we know it will not be easy. We try, for as long as we can we try, but eventually their canvas inevitably starts to change.

So here we are. Yet before we even have the ability to pick up a brush, there are lines. Before we learn what it feels to create, there is creation sitting there on our canvas. We didn’t choose it, but it is there. And eventually we decide that the only option is to follow it. Follow along the lines that seem to create some notion of structure. Colour gently along the rigid dark curves that contrast so vividly. We don’t want to upset the trend, or disturb the creation that has already begun.

It was never that we did not have the ability to create, rather we created within the boundaries of what had already was. We decided that what we wanted could fit inside the lines, and that it would be okay. We believed the most beautiful picture would come out of continuity rather than newness. It was easier, understandable. It formed consistent and predictable framework.

Still you wonder, what might I have created if those lines were never there? What would I have desired to make? Would it be bright, colourful and smooth or intricate lines and graphics that would collide together to produce a maze of unique design?

Is there something I was supposed to follow? A design that I was meant to re-create? I have followed something that existed before I could think differently, is that the point? Or is there more? Is there other canvases that I have not seen? Why do the others look different than mine? Their use of colour seems so practiced, as I look at mine I see mistakes and slip ups.
I swear I followed along the lines, still it did not turn out like I thought it would. It does not look like I thought it would. It doesn’t… look like anything.

Okay I must be missing something, there must be a “normal” that I can follow. I’ll find something that represents normality and fix my mess enough to make it resemble this existing standard. Then it will all be okay, everything will be predictable and understandable. Once again I will be in control.

I lie awake at night, awoken from vivid dreams. Black lines obscuring all that I thought I knew, colours that I don’t recognize, everything changing so rapidly.

I have to believe that there is something to create. Something that is worth creating, something that will extend beyond my years. Something that matters. But how do I do that when my creation is tattered, torn and used? I don’t know anything different, yet somehow I seek to know everything that is foreign to me. Something different, something more.
I see a design that looks simple enough, so I try to copy it. My lines don’t look quite as neat, but at least they resemble one that seems to be getting so much attention. I wish I could say I am proud of their work, but the jealousy of comparison supersedes any admiration that I might have the capacity to feel.

Day by day, I create. I add to this picture wherever there is blank space, some days I resort to re-tracing the lines that are already there, it is easy and does not take much thought. This routine is so stale, yet I can’t seem to see beyond this complex mass of colour in front of me. Maybe there is something behind it that I’m not seeing. I take the hind end of my frayed brush and poke holes in the rigid fabric that holds this creation I’ve built upon. My whole life’s work. But still nothing changes, I cannot see through my creation, instead it just looks even more obscure and disfigured. Now I’m beyond what I can do so I shamefully call upon the help of those that have gone before me, hoping they can fix this mess that I am in. They provide the material, and we work together to try and patch up the holes. It takes a lot of time, but eventually it comes together, though it will never look like it did before. I am weak, exhausted and defeated. Have I had enough? I cannot decide.

After a long day, week, month, year of repair I lay my head down and rest, with thoughts of colour filling my imagination.
I love the reds, and how the brightness catches your eye. Yet its intensity can also be frightening. I love the coolness of the blues, how they create a sense of calm and clean. Yet some blues are too dark, and convey a darkness that has yet to be explored. Some reds are too strong, and any fault in the tone is too easily recognized.

On and on I see these colours, the ones that have brought me joy, and the ones that have plagued me. They start to flicker and rotate faster, until I am seeing a rainbow rapidly transition through my mind. Endless lines, colours and vibrancies that I cannot process. It is beautiful yet overwhelming, the sheer volume of it creates a silent noise that rumbles. I swear it could shake the mountains. Sometimes this noise invigorates me, but for now it is exhausting, and I try to suppress it but I cannot seem to see anything else.

And then it stops. The noise starts to subside, the colours start to fade, and I realize that for the first time I am starting to see white. It is so unfamiliar, yet blindingly beautiful. It is so foreign, yet at the same time it feels comfortable and familiar. I do not know how to respond, so I just pause and take it in. It is so pure, unobstructed, so real and bright. Maybe this is what I have been missing all along. This colour, it is what I have been searching for, but never knew what it was. This colour that I have been trying to cover up, replacing with rainbows to add significance and meaning. But at the same time this blanket of white seems to hold a perfect complexity that I fail to comprehend. Yet I am okay with it.

But it is too late. It must be, My creation is already in progress, and it is far from white. In fact, it has been a long time since I have seen any free space to work with. How I yearn for this pure light, this white that has no blemishes or holes, no lines or scars.

I try so hard to figure out how to create white with all that I have. I mix and match, mix and match trying to create this perfection that seems so tangible. Yet the more that I mix, the darker it gets, nothing seems to make sense. What am I missing? If only I had that, maybe all of this clutter would disappear. If I admit it, there is some lines that I am not willing to let go of. While they may be overdone, they represent all that I’ve created, and i’m not sure I’m ready to let go of that. What will I be without this creation? Surely i will have nothing if I am without my life’s work. Surely there is no more to me than this complex array of colours that I have tried so hard to coordinate.

But still I imagine it. This pure, uncoloured scene. The clean, marvellous surface that has no bumps or bruises, no tears or strains.

Maybe I will never know it. My picture has already been created, I must build on what is. If only I had something new. A second chance.

As I rest my arms onto this blurry mess of colour, a tear drops onto the surface and further blends the dark mix that I’ve created through my diligent combinations, trying so hard to find clarity. Searching for meaning.

And then I feel a shift of weight, the fragile structure of my canvas was not made to hold me up, and I tumble over as it falls to the ground. I shake off the dust, annoyed at myself for being so careless and pick up this tattered piece of art that carries so much confusion and anguish.

And for the first time I see it.

Blank. Pure. Perfect.


On the reverse side of all that I have known sits an empty canvas. Something I subconsciously knew was there all along but never tried to discover. It only made sense that it was here. All along I had the power to turn it over, but I never knew that I really could. I was searching for something that was there, I just didn’t believe that it was accessible. I did not believe that I was worth a second chance.

How beautiful. How free. How un-tainted.

Yet while it’s unique perfection portrayed completion, I knew that it was made to be used. Though I feared marking up the pure, smooth surface, now I could finally see what was in front of me. For the first time I could see that I had a second chance. A chance to create from scratch. A chance to do something I have always wanted to do, but never felt the opportunity was there.

It’s not that I now had more skill, more finesse or technique. I did not have new brushes, new colours or new tools.
But I had ideas. Oh how I had ideas, they bounced around in my head like bingo balls, each one ready to picked at any moment.

The difference was, now I had freedom. I had something to start with, though it began perfect and I was bound to mess it up, at least I can create. I can really create something new. This is my chance, my second chance, and it’s the only one I’ll ever need.

No matter what, it will be beautiful. Because it’s unique. It’s mine. It’s a blank canvas.

Photo: Sarah Klockars-Clauser

Pain is not your identity


Perhaps you have felt the paralyzing fear that you will be labeled for what you are struggling with. Your self-identified weakness will become your identity, your insecurities will become who you are, your addiction will be all that is ever remembered of you. While we certainly cannot control how other people see us, we CAN control what we believe to be our identity.

What consumes us is always at the front of our consciousness. Whether is is a physical ailment, a skill or talent, or a psychological struggle. There is something that is central to us, for some it changes with the seasons, for others it is a constant battle. Maybe you do not know any different, maybe you do but you cannot seem to remember what it felt like.

You might identify yourself as an athlete.
You might see yourself as a writer, intellectual, student, or mother.
Conversely, you might see yourself as everything you despise. You might see yourself as a failure, sub-par or an almost-made it.

I thought if I shared anything beyond the positive sides of me, that is what I would become. That by saying it I was releasing a part of my identity that would take over anything else I have managed to build for my self-image.

We seem to focus on the negative things that become our identity, but when did it become okay to label ourselves with our pain? In what context does it make sense to reduce our value to all of the things that keep us from being ourselves?

What if I said you are not your pain? What if I said you are not your struggles? What if I said those things are the complete opposite to the core of your being?

Could you even begin to believe that?

Maybe pain is simply a response to everything that defies who you are. Maybe it is your body telling you that things are not right, yet somewhere along the line we thought normality was this pain that we felt.

While sudden pain might have once shocked you and alerted you of danger, now it serves to create an identity of this person you never claimed to be. You befriend this pain, because you can’t see beyond it, and you accept the fact that it is who you are.

While it may not be immediately conquerable, understood or deserved, there is more to it.
We are fortunate enough to have a clear signal that tells us of an imbalance, yet it serves the opposite purpose when we latch onto the pain rather than trying to see beyond it.

Until we can separate the pain and the problem, the problem will just be the pain. We can learn to treat the pain all we want, but if we never try to treat the problem, we are stuck in a cycle of temporary relief.

We have made incredible progress treating many symptoms. But the problem is when we stop there. This goes beyond medical intercession, into all the ways in which we suppress or hide our imperfections to avoid becoming them.

Some are easier to hide than others.

I do not have an explanation for all the things that cause you strife, I simply want to propose the idea that it is not YOU.

It is just the opposite.

What if you looked at emotional pain the same as physical pain? What if you responded with asking for help?
What if you simply realized that something is not right, and knew you deserve to live in harmony, not conflict?

What if pain became a signal rather than a secret?
What if it was there to alert you rather than harm you?

What if you truly believed your identity lies in the person that you are in spite of everything you have been bound by?

Maybe it is our response to pain that creates the chaos, not the pain itself. Maybe it is all the ways we try to cover it up, instead of seeing it as important.

Maybe our chains come from letting pain become who we are. And maybe we can break them simply by seeing that there is more.



Photo Attribution: Matt Blaze




If all else fails, I AM ALIVE.

I am alive. I am breathing and I am here.

I have goals, dreams and desires. I have ambitions and passions that inspire me to move forward. I have health and opportunity. I am fortunate in more ways than one. I can be blessed, hopeful and happy.


Yet I am confused, lonely and desperate. I have felt rejected, worthless, unhappy and scared. I have been lost, and I have felt emptiness. I have felt hatred, betrayal, anger and sadness. I have seen life as a burden, lacking enough effort to succeed. I have struggled to fit in, to be unique, to find answers and to ask the right questions. I have felt jealous, belittled and ignored. I have felt an overwhelming lack of desire, and loss of interest. I have felt pain for others, and sat with defeated wonder at the chaos of the world. I have felt frustration at the sheer lack of good. I have felt unworthy, unqualified and misunderstood. I have disliked myself, and felt the sting of self-rejection. I have learned to grab hold of pain when it is stronger than joy. I have mourned and felt sorrow and regret.

I have. I felt.

I AM… alive.

I have a heart that keeps beating through all of it.
I have friends that keep listening.
I have a new day tomorrow, and I CAN start over.
I cannot change the past, but I CAN change the future.
I am good at things, valuable things.
I can think for myself, and I can decide what is true about me.
I can be adventurous. I AM adventurous.

I can learn, grow and develop.
I can laugh… oh how I can laugh.
I can choose love, and I can let it in.
I can choose acceptance.
I can choose to be hopeful.
I can choose life.

I can. I will. I am.

If all else fails, I am alive.

What are your “I can, I will and I am statements” ?
Because you can, you will and you ARE.

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Write because you want to.

Write because you can.

Write because you have something to say.

Got a pen?

Great, put it in your hand.

Write for you, and others will listen.
Write to explore the depths inside of you that cannot be articulated out loud.
Write because you have a story to tell, and it all starts with one word.
Write because it won’t be perfect, and it doesn’t have to be.

Write because you are creative, you have thoughts and feelings and desires.
Write because there are others who share your feelings, write for them, they’re waiting for it.

Write about your life, your goals, your ambitions.

Write about what makes you laugh, cry and cringe.

Write about your hobbies, your imperfections and your quirks. Write about everything that you don’t understand… you can even admit that it hurts.

Write because words are our common ground to connect with each other.

Write because someone will understand, though everyone doesn’t need to.
Write because you can, not because you have to.
Write because you will make mistakes, and the strikethroughs are simply part of the progress.
Write knowing that you CAN make mistakes, and sometimes that is the point.
Write messy, don’t follow the rules.
Write honestly, because you know a truth. Write about it all, the doubts, fears and hopes.
Write because sometimes words are all we have, yet they pose no limits, if we’ll only explore them.
Write because you have a voice, and you need to share it.
Write something that can be saved, folded, hugged and treasured.

Write about life as you see it, because we all see something.

Write freely.
Write often.
Write love.


Blog Photo Attribution: walt stoneburner