I don’t know what went wrong. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was my insecurities reaching up through the cracks in the cement, pulling at my ankles. I felt it dragging behind me every time I left my apartment, locking my door behind me. In the shower. Every time I looked in the mirror. I felt it clawing up underneath my skin-tight jeans, sinking like a rock in the pit of my stomach, burning until the smoke rose into my lungs, eventually grabbing at my throat. It grew hands, like claws, ripping, suffocating me.
I’d heard of something like this. I’d heard that it was something like a nightmare. That it was possessive, addictive. That it acted like a friend.
I didn’t know that it was like an onion, layer upon layer, doubling in intensity the deeper it got, burning my eyes the closer I looked.
I made a wish one night, as I sat on the front step, alone in absolute silence, that I would be unafraid to know myself. To know what I was capable of. To see myself as I actually was. Then, as I stood and turned to look and see, really see, whatever was behind me, whatever was looming, whatever was clinging, whatever was clawing, whatever the fuck it was that kept me stagnant, I saw that it was something, someone I had seen before, someone I had known, I reached my hands up to grab its neck, to strangle, to sink my nails into and rip the skin, to claw through its flesh. My hands grasping its neck, I watched it writhe, I watched it suffocate.
It was only after this that I recognized my hands had turned into claws. Boney, grotesque. They were connected to me in an unnatural way, a way that didn’t feel real, but now I could see that the neck they were wrapped around like a snake was attached to a jaw with a scar on the chin that I knew, a scar from when I fell from the roof of our plastic car when I was 8, from when my chin hit the cement, when my knees and elbows scraped against the cold, hard driveway. I laid there.
That was when I first met this thing. When I first welcomed this thing into my being. I began to inject it into my bloodstream. It grew like a weed, infecting new growth, killing whatever fresh, green grass I found myself standing on.
That was when the nightmares started. When I would cry to my mom desperately trying to describe this feeling, this creature that was clawing at my insides.
This should be illegal.
This is a piece written by Emily Dorsett, one of the core-members of It's Personal.
What does loving yourself mean to you? Having the courage to forgive yourself? Doing what you love? That not everyone will love you and that’s okay? Loving yourself before loving someone else or expecting them to love you? Or is it understanding that the way you appear doesn’t make you any less attractive than anybody else? Every negative part of these questions have gone through my head over the past several years. Between a relationship with someone who doesn’t know how to love and being single in a city so full of beautiful people, I have had to ask myself each and every one of these things about myself.
Let’s start with forgiving yourself. Have you ever done something or been ashamed of something in your past that you haven’t ever been able to forget? I have. There are things that I have said to family members in a moment of weakness or anger that I wish I could take back. If I brought it up to them, they had either forgotten about it or wondered why I brought it up again. But I had to ask them for forgiveness for my own consciousness. Now, have you ever gone against your own morals and done something you think someone in your life will judge you for? Truth is, they will still love you for you and being honest with them will only make them love you more. If they walk away? You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life. Those things that you’re ashamed of are all in your head. Forgive yourself for those moments and live where you are now in life. Most of the things holding you back are either unknown or forgotten by the people in your present. You are the only one holding yourself back and you need to let yourself be forgiven so that the walls you’ve built up will not prevent you from having strong relationships in the future. The walls I’ve built around myself are because of my past relationship and things that I said or did to make sure he still loved me, things I was ashamed of. I stepped past my own boundaries and morals to see if that would make him love me more or be more attracted to me, and I have had a hard time forgiving myself for those mistakes.
Moving on to doing what you love. Now, for some people doing what you love is more of a hobby than a career or a lifestyle. But if it ever comes down to the choice between doing what you love or submitting to someone else’s expectations that are put on you, what would you do? I can tell you right now that I chose the latter in a past relationship. Some people do that with significant others, sometimes a friend, sometimes their parents. Those are the people that they want to please. The plans those people have for you aren’t always what is going to make you happy. In my past relationship, my ex knew that I wanted to do something in film and possibly act on the side or something. I was still in college when I first started dating him and when he wanted to dive deeper into our relationship, I moved back home so we could be together instead of moving to LA. To anyone who asked, I would say I was putting one dream on hold to pursue another. But I should have moved to LA. Hindsight is 20-20. Once I moved home he tried to get me to pursue a different career so I could live anywhere rather than having to live in a specific location (LA) for a job. He suggested nursing, I chose massage therapy instead. That did not make me happy, but it made him happy that I had something else to make an income and now we could go wherever he wanted to live. It was always about him and what made him happy. So when I decided to move to LA on a whim, things fizzled very quickly, and I’m now here and single in a beautiful city that I love.
What you see in the mirror is not all people look at for attraction. Also, beauty is different from person to person. You must understand that not your weight, nor your hair color, nor your choice of clothing or the funny way your stomach rolls when you sit make you any less attractive. These are all things that we see in the mirror everyday and we are our own worst critics. Life is funny that way. I am beyond blessed to have friends who tell me I am beautiful almost every time I see them. They encourage me in ways that I cannot even fathom sometimes. I changed my hair color so many times to improve how I looked and now I just do it for fun! I would wear heels and dresses because I looked prettier and thought boys would notice me more, but when I decided I wasn’t comfortable in those clothes, I changed my style to what I am comfortable in. I love changing up my style just to see what I like on myself but I only do it for myself, no one else. I have struggled with the idea of being too fat for a very long time. I have never been skinny. The lowest number I remember seeing on a scale is 165. That was probably in high school. My weight has never been something that I am happy with and that’s another thing my ex tried to control in my life. That’s probably what made it so bad for me. As for stomach rolls, I’ve always had those. Even as a kid. Every girl does. It’s because our bodies are flexible and they bend and conform to the way we are bending it so that we aren’t uncomfortable. I’ve learned to love my body shape and know that I am working on being healthier rather than just skinnier. Everything I want to change about myself is just to make me healthier for my own mental stability and I’m not doing it for anyone else. Because if they can’t accept what I look like then they don’t deserve to know me past that. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.
I’m sure you’ve heard people say that you need to love yourself before trying to love someone else or before they can love you. This is something that I really struggled with for a long time. I never felt like I deserved the love that other people had to offer. When someone tells me that they love me, I question it. Every single time. I don’t care how many times they’ve told me, it’s still a doubt I have in my mind. My ex said “I love you” first. I couldn’t say it back right away. It got caught in my throat. It didn’t make sense to me. Because I didn’t love me. I thought I was weird and didn’t fit in, I didn’t belong with someone who had their life so put together. I wasn’t worthy of being loved by him or anyone. I wasn’t as pretty as his ex girlfriend or as put together with my life. I didn’t know what I wanted in life or where I wanted to go. I was “lazy”. But once I moved away from the normalcy of what the midwest was, I found out that I am definitely weird, but I love that part of me. The people around me are weird and thrive in it. I don’t have my life together but people my age don’t really know what they’re doing either, that doesn’t mean we aren’t successful or won’t be in the future. Being lazy was a choice and I made the conscious choice to change that about myself and get out of the house and go to the gym and hang out with friends or get coffee or write stories, make the connections that got where I am today in my career choices and friendships. I was able to look at myself in the mirror and see the beauty that others always told me I have.I love the person I am becoming and who I am striving to be. I still have things that I struggle with from time to time, but I do love who I am and where I’ve found my worth. Because I am worthy of love. So are you.
Kelsey has been in a number of It's Personal shows, including the current show at the Hollywood Fringe Festival. Check it out!
Weekly, I grieve.
Always the same. Sunday night. Around 7:30pm. I grieve.
I look at my love, making dinner. I look at my home, warm and comforting. I look at myself in the mirror, wearing only a men’s t-shirt and thick socks.
This is right. This is life! But this is a weekend. A thing, by design, meant to end. My heart weeps for Sunday, even while I’m in it. The end of Sunday means the beginning of Monday, and that means the dawn of a new week of work. The grind. I could wax poetic on the beauty of a weekend. The toil of the day job. But I have nothing but love for the day job.
I worked a day job when I first moved to LA. A job where I had to wear a uniform designed only for men and wear OSHA-compliant shoes. A job that paid me $10/hour to work in 112 degree heat. It was unglamorous. But steadfast, I showed up to work.
And as I look at my now OSHA-defiant footwear, at my very own desk, next to a phone with my name on it, I think…I am forever indebted to the universe for that day job.
My first day job led me to a day job that led me to a job that led me to the beginning of my career.
My first day job led me to a day job that led me to a job that led me to meet the man I love.
My first day job set in motion a chain of events that included officiating a friend’s wedding, finding my own apartment, planning for my future in a real way.
Everything I have right now is a product of where I was. But I don’t owe it to that day job. The day job didn’t give it to me. Everything I have right now, I owe to leaving my first day job.
So don’t do it. Don’t stay. Make the change. It’s worth it. Even if you don’t know what’s on the other side. Life is truly too short to stay in a uniform that requires orthopedic shoes. Because gosh! You might find yourself, four years later, in your own home, in love, in a t-shirt that says “Pizza Power”, eating broccolini. And it might very well be the best day of your life.
Anna Snedden strikes again! Check out her previous blog posts.
Ah, Craig S. List. My greatest friend. You’ve gotten me an apartment, a chair, two cars, and all of my jobs in the last three years. You’re always available, and sometimes reliable. You are a solid gamble.
The one time I could count on you, was the one time it really counted.
It’s 2016. I’m a girl from Iowa, fresh in the city. So fresh, I’m still believing every person that tells me they’re a producer. I’ve given out twenty business cards at this point. Taken the red line to Hollywood Blvd. a few times. I still think Santa Monica Pier is best beach spot. Some dude who said he used to be a viral youtuber tells me he’s now a headshot photographer. I pay him $100 for new headshots. I am killing.
I sign up for a casting service and start working background on a few jobs. Some dude I met hooked me up to work on set with AFI, so I’m stoked. Life is good. I decided I’d spend the first month auditioning.
May rolls around, and my savings are dwindling. It’s all good though because I don’t care about money and art is the only thing that matters. I am an artist scraping by in the noblest of ways, crazily responding to setbacks by speaking positive phrases in my head, each day getting closer to the hard truth: I am broke.
Hey, Craig. What’s up.
Within the week you get me a waitressing job in Studio City and now, three years later, I still have it. I hate the job and then I love it again. I’m grateful for it and then I scream at it, “F*ck you!” It’s a rollercoaster of curse words and appreciation, up and down and all over again. In this moment, I’ve decided I love it. I’ve met some of my best friends through it, and it keeps me grounded in reality. Floating into the clouds can be dangerous, so thank you, restaurant. Thank you, Craig. You remind me that I’m a piece of shit like everyone else. No, we’re not all pieces of shit. But no one is better than anyone else and you make that overtly apparent. Thank you.
My waitressing job has been the one consistent thing from the beginning. Jobs have come and gone, friends too, but you’ve always been there. I can take you or leave you. I can use you or avoid you. I take off my apron and forget about you. Of course, as artists, we’re all in the same boat trying to balance our career and then our other career. I guess I never wanted for it to be easy, to just pick the less hard thing to do. Maybe that’s not a good thing, cause maybe I’d be happier. But maybe it’s the best thing because I’m always looking for something more.
Truthfully, I thought this piece would turn out to be me ranting and joking about my piece of shit job and weird craigslist experiences, but I find more and more that the things that don’t bring you immediate joy are usually the most rewarding. So thanks, day job. Thanks, Craig. I’ve learned a lot from you.
I awaken for my day job.
Laying in bed
Between the sheets
My clock on repeat
Curling my feet across the bed
Lying up, sighing out loud
My painful eyes
Nobody said how bright the day would be
Now I see my fate
Time to make some money
Funny, how I was late relating to so many
Out there working for every penny
Sometimes at dawn, sometimes so far
Sometimes arriving with a good old sob
As I drive out for my day job.
I’m almost late for my day job.
Zero fucks given
Cut me off will you?
You knew I would relent
Going so far as venting your apathy
Shitty driving skills
How do you fill in the time,
By being such a malignant cancerous tumor?
You’re the reason why bluetooths were invented
You fucking shitty-ass guber
I know it’s not me
Pretty calm, benign
Just planning out my 9 to 5
Ignoring the constant whines
Coworkers glued eyes onto the time
I find my spirit pine for greener pastures
If only a rapture could take me away
To save my youth from being robbed
No longer pretending to be somebody I’m not
I proceed working for my day job.
I cope for my day job.
Downtime, lobbying for passions
Believing pursuit would be forbidden
Believing in stone written lives
Black, crass, tight tie-binds
Fear-laced gross buzzing flies
Hovering throughout our minds
Such lies deny and blind
Of a life outside of work
Shining light lurks
With dear friends arriving at every turn
Tending to our wounds
Sooner or later healing
From our hearts
Red glistening cells feeding
Off our love our bodies most often needing
So little of it left
Such a theft temps those who long for
A journey, a hidden meaning for living
Perhaps once that giant leap is taken
Consider faith forsaking
Destiny calling out to be answered
I wonder as I lay to sleep
If I were to ever notice the call
Luna’s gaze requires submission
With each night I sleep through
I realize with each passing day that I’ve now dropped into
I have transformed my dreams as my true day job.
Another awesome piece by It's Personal core-member, Andy Quintana.
Dating after divorce is not fun. I met my ex-husband when I was 17, got married when I was 23,
separated at 28, and the divorce was finalized when I was 31.
Guys never really asked me out in high school, I don’t regret that. I had the best time with my
friends. Having water balloon fights, throwing Elijah Wood parties just so we could have cake,
watching all six hours of the BBC “Pride and Prejudice” with vintage Colin Firth. My high school
days were full of theatre and happy memories.
But at the end of four years, only having “dated” one guy for barely a month, that seeping doubt
began to creep in. What’s so wrong with me that no one wants to date me.
The first week of college, my ex husband asked me out. I said no. I didn’t want to go to school
and just be someone’s girlfriend. I dated one other guy, for about a month. And that was fine.
After a year and a half, my ex-husband and I got together. It was the midwest. I had a
boyfriend. There was validation in having found my person.
When things fall apart and no one really did anything wrong, it hurts. You’re left reeling. I had
only ever dated two other guys before him, and for a little over a month. Dating wasn’t my
strong point. When you’ve been married, you’re supposed to do things for that person. Spend
time and grow together. And when that sort of comfortability is compromised. Out in a big city,
dating and casual sex are like a foreign language.
I was a virgin when I got married. And here I was at 28, having only been with one person. All
of my friends and coworkers were having casual sex and dating around. I’d go to parties, and
just practice talking to men. It felt weird. I couldn’t bring myself to go home with them. The first
time I semi-drunkenly kissed a guy at a party. I froze, immediately went home and sobbed. I’m
in my 20’s, the prime of my life. I should be having fun.
Since then there have been a few guys. Nothing super serious. But my low self confidence
with men usually leads to my self-sabotaging the possibility of a relationship. And for a long
while I’d promote the “I fly solo” theme out there. Because being vulnerable and letting
someone new in is scary as hell.
Starting your dating life at 28 is a doozy. But I gotta keep growing. Keep on pushing to open
myself up to the possibility of love. While it doesn’t happen very often, the guys I’ve gone out
with give me lots of hilarious stories . There’s the guy who lit up TWO joints on our hiking date.
The guy who kissed me, barely touched my boobs, then immediately came in his pants. To the
guy who for the first time I thought might go somewhere, only to have him text me out of the
blue that he was getting back together with his ex-girlfriend.
Those guys aren’t my person. Some people don’t have one person, they have many. My
family, my friends, and coworkers. I’ve grown so much by being independent over the last five
years, finally being comfortable being alone and being with myself.
Over the course of the last year, I’ve learned to let go on dates, and just enjoy the experience.
I’m now growing into the powerful force I’m meant to be. And maybe that scares some men, but
it hopefully will lead me into the direction of someone just as independent as me. Who gives me
plenty of room to be myself and gives me that authentic need for freedom so we can both
realize our full potential.
And if not, I’ll just keep on being awesome.
Kate Orlando has performed in It's Personal On Stage and will be joining us again this summer for the Fringe show: Los Angeles. We are thrilled to have this lady be apart of It's Personal and THE PERSONALS.
A woman, getting older
Instead of colder
With two strong shoulders
Beneath a head swirling with things I told her:
That being alone and being sober
Turn you into a female soldier
The first to admit
her needs don’t include a man to fit her
For the sister glitters without a mister
Wants no other to need or complete her
Her independence is transcendence
And no one person’s entrance could possibly end it
Or so I told her
Then one day
Because her knees were weaker
The days tasted sweeter
And as if it had been eager to meet her -
Love greeted her
And in just a moment
Her heart burst wide open
She found that it had her feeling
Like someone peeling back the covers
Who then discovers
That the world has secret colors
And she was just now able to see them
Now, behold her:
A woman, growing younger
Filled with a new and lovely hunger
That will make her fight through rain and thunder
To simply watch her lover slumber
They say that age is just a number
And if that’s true
Then growing up
Is merely showing up
To the possibility
Of falling, headfirst, into opportunity
And perhaps maturity
Is understanding life will treat you brutally
And just as often beautifully
To lean into that lunacy
Is to be behaving humanly
Maybe love is that confusing dichotomy?
So behold her:
A woman, timeless, on the rise.
A belly full of butterflies
A heart of easy compromise
Sunrise dawning in his eyes
Moonlight resting on their thighs
She needs him, but she needs him not
Love simply isn’t what I thought -
Truly a better endeavor
Than I was ever taught.
So I did not plan it
And I may not understand it
But by god
I now demand it
We hope you enjoyed this beautiful piece written by Anna Snedden.
I appreciate my vagina. I do.
This thought kept going through my head as I used the bathroom in the Vegas airport during my layover cause damn it, I appreciate my vagina. I do.
I was flying solo, which meant I was getting drunk solo, which led to ordering Burger King solo. And, then I realized, I'm a goddamn champion. And, it's because of my vagina.
My vagina keeps me sane. If my vagina's healthy, I'm healthy. If my vagina feels good, I feel good. If someone messes with my vagina, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.
But, it didn’t always used to be that way. I didn’t always appreciate my vagina. There was a time when I hated my vagina.
I grew up in a house with 3 brothers. My mom took incredible care of us- we’re very close- but anything pertaining to, or in mention of the vagina was off limits. Not because my mom was being neglectful; it was because I’d rather get my leg gnawed off slowly by an army of angry mice than to have to look at a simple, hand-drawn diagram of my fallopian tubes. Ew. I got home from school, and my mom said, “Emily”, and waved me into the kitchen. I sat down awkwardly on a stool at our island table, like omg, what is it mom. She scribbled something onto an index card and slowly slid it in front of me. It was a very simply drawn picture of a uterus. The f*ck is wrong with you?! is what I wanted to say. Instead, I looked up with an expression of full on hatred. I don’t know if you’ve seen a tiny, prepubescent girl in the shape of a twig turn into a raging baby alcoholic, but I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what happened. I’d been successfully pushing off this conversation since my grandma bought me a bra for christmas when I was 9. The f*ck is wrong with you?!
My mom quickly rattled off the briefest explanation as to what a period is, and why I will want to kill myself. She did this because she knew, based on past experience, that she had about 5 seconds before I got pissed and started throwing shit, and bolted for the closest door or open window. I didn't wanna talk about it!
I don’t know if it’s because I wasn’t used to talking about female stuff, or because I just wanted to be one of the guys, but I felt super weird about it. My mom eventually resorted to getting one of those period books about Sally accidentally getting period blood on her gym uniform and having to ask her friend to borrow a tampon. It was in one of those books that I learned how to put in my own tampon. It was also in one of those books that I learned my boobs might not fully develop until the age of 18. I had time.
However, I did have a slight change of heart once my friends started getting their periods, and marking their calendars. And then I was like F*ck. When am I gonna get mine?! Oh, I got it. 4 years later. Then I got braces, almost simultaneously. Then some kid in Chemistry said I had hairy arms. High school was good.
At this point, I wanted to know more, more than just the basic period stuff. More about my vagina. But, for some reason I still couldn’t talk about it. Then college happened, and ya know, ya get drunk. And you eat mcdonald’s sitting on a curb, and ya pass out on a couch next to a hairy dude wearing a pair of fairy wings. You maybe kiss a girl for the first time. Maybe you like it, maybe you don’t, maybe you’re too drunk to know. Then you start to see this guy, not the hairy dude, another guy, a cuter guy, and you have sex. For the first time. And, you make him wear two condoms at once just to make sure. And, then after two periods and 3 pregnancy tests, you still think maybe you’re pregnant because you “feel” like maybe you’re pregnant and it doesn’t matter that 3 tests came back negative or that now you’ve had 3 periods. But the worst part is, you feel dirty. And not in the good way. And then he never texts you back.
That’s when I started talking. I just, I needed some answers and there was no way in hell I wasn't gonna talk to my mom, so my roomie- my best friend - became my therapist, and my own instant pocket comedian. She’s the best. Things got better, and I started to appreciate my vagina.
When I got older, the subject of my vagina was later replaced with finances. I still won’t talk about em, but I’ll talk about my vaginaaa all damn day.
Here's another weird piece by Emily Dorsett. I can say that because I am her. Enjoy.
Oh Veggie Burger,
How did you entrance me?
Mere seduction of my need to feed
Especially on a day I couldn’t eat meat
Such a feat, I never thought would occur
Taste buds on overload, hyper drive, what a blur
To think I avoided your presence
I was self-sentenced to life, as a carnivore
Especially thinking back, before all this
Memories of my youth
Long have I knew
Of my food habits
Rigid, safe guarded
Never would a garden touch these lips
Never would greens and oranges and reds
Breed romance onto my eternal menu
Only tried and true foods
Would pass my tests, and just as all of the rest of my days
I would find ways to bypass the change, the new
So was I afraid of you?
Was I afraid of what I could become?
A predator becoming docile
A lion? No; a goat
Grazing on the landscape
Hopping freely, dancing till sunset
One I hoped would happen for me
As I grew and matured
My horns sharp, my hoofs overworked
To prove my existence to this world
Change became inevitable
The more foreign fields I would graze
Others like me could see the quality
That makes me, me
Smiles all around
So easy to come around to the new
Of wanting to fit in
So change once again rears it’s ugly head
If I were to relate, my palette would be redesigned
Against my better judgment
So reluctant in my attempts
Such weird, hideous looking foods before me
So lewd as they, my friends, viewed
Eyes rudely glued as I tried eating these foods
Hopefully they understood how I excluded so much before
How dare they attempt to woo me?
Collusion aside, nowhere was safe for me to hide
From them, I would renew myself
Bravely included in their shrewdness
Guided, no longer fighting it
Giving in, growing up
Factually enticed by the tastes
My face red, with anger and embarrassment
Anger for the time wasted
Embarrassed of my past omissions
It was now my mission
To reach for the new
To grow I must bestow my head, my horns
Humbly to whatever comes before me
On a mountain, beyond the lakes
The unknown awaits
Such as what I just ate on my plate
Oh Veggie Burger
I whisper my thanks to you
A new chapter can begin
As I finish you and order myself another
Such an honor to find you
After all these years, system reset
Safe to say, on that particular day
On life, not quite full yet.
Andy Quintana is one of our core-members in our live show. We <3 Andy and his veggie burgers.
Have you ever sweated over a decision? Brought the stakes to life or death levels and
thought about it day and night, even dreamed about it? Have you ever had to think about
something for weeks on end, until you ultimately you have no time left to decide? Let’s
say you have. Because if you have, you probably look back at that time and wonder: why
was that so hard?
I put off my college decision until literally the last day. It was down to two choices. One
school I liked more in general, but the other school had a slightly better program. One
school was about twice as far away, but aside from that all the other factors were the
same. Months of putting it off lead to hours of pacing, looking over the programs from
both schools, trying to call each one with last minute questions, using my parents as
therapists while I talked it out, and looking at the programs from other schools and asking
myself why I didn’t consider these options more seriously?! Ultimately I went with the
school that had a slightly better program, and everything turned out fine. I don’t look
back and think about what life would have been like going to the other school. Odds are it
also would have been fine. I still would have studied film, and I still would have moved
to California when I graduated. So why so much panic?
It’s easy to be paralyzed with indecision. To get caught between the head and the heart
and not know what the right thing to do is. Whether it comes down to moving far away to
pursue your dreams even though you won’t know anybody there, or quitting a bad job
that you’ve become reliant on but it literally incites your clinical depression, or getting
out of a relationship that isn’t apparently bad but is missing something. You can get stuck
just mulling it over because the right, or “correct,” answer isn’t spelled out.
You become accustomed to the situation, and there’s some security to it so you don’t act.
But then you become stagnate, and everything falls to the wayside. You can’t break past
this one big roadblock so you just focus on the little inconsequential things. You begin
looking more at the day to day and the big picture starts to get blurry. So you tell yourself
that these are that baby steps will get you somewhere eventually. But then two years go
by and where are you? What have your efforts yielded? Eventually, you become
comfortably numb, and Pink Floyd starts to make a lot more sense.
As simple as it may be, the truth you have to accept is: there is no correct answer, only a
right one. You can pace around the room, reason both sides to death, and you’ll find an
argument either way. But it’s you. You’re holding yourself back. Whether that’s due to
fear, insecurity, or whatever ails you, the only thing preventing your decision is you. You
may have known all along what the right choice was anyway. The challenge then
becomes not knowing what you have to do, instead the challenge lies in doing it.
And no, it’s not easy.
You’re not going to know where you’ll land, you won’t even know how you’re going to
fall… but that’s why it’s called a leap of faith.
Danny is our 2nd guest writer for the blog, and we are so lucky to have him! We hope you enjoyed his piece as much as we did!