August 12: The Life I've Already Built

August 12 — The Life I've Already Built

Reflect on everything you've accomplished that younger you would've been amazed by.

I've built a self-sufficient inner garden that waters itself, emits its own sunlight, an oasis that blooms and grows eternally.

Of course there's a storm every now and then, an outpouring of rain and pain. A streak of terror that threatens to shake it all down. A dark day every now and then.

But it always blooms again. It always finds its way to sunlight. An eternal chase for spring.

The life I built is one where I am no longer shackled by false beliefs. Where the opinions of others no longer bind me to a version of myself that doesn't look like me. Where I no longer prioritize others so vehemently that I forget myself.

The life I built is one that is God-seeking. I want God's acceptance and no one else's. I train my heart to do good not for people, because people are bound to let you down, but for God.

The life I built, with God's grace, is a beautiful one, curated for me.

One where access to me is a privilege I can revoke. One where to be around me cannot contradict my peace. One where I am transparent with those I love and no longer read the messages sent between the lines. One where I no longer exert effort to decipher intentions jumbled in an intertwined web of confusion. One where I try to be better every day, but no longer chase things or relationships that don't serve me.

One where I'm learning to say no. One where I keep my word to myself. One where I don't take bad treatment from anyone. One where I only deal with love.

A life where I cherish my mornings, savoring every moment of daylight, making the best of the day: chasing my dreams, making art, feeding my brain.

And when night hits, I reflect, unwind, take my time, and delve into precious, long, deep sleep. The kind that is fueled by knowing I'm a good person as long as I keep trying to be.

My life is full of love, from external and internal reservoirs. Full of gratitude and blessings, uncountable.

One where I'm happy, not with my accomplishments, but with who I am.