Push.
Be more. Be better. Uncover.
Push.
Full weight falls into the resistance, in defeat, in exhaustion. Dead weight.
Muted, dead ends, dull, depleted. After all this loss , after all this work, after all this pain. Cracked.
Self as art, vulnerability in authenticity.
Bravery.
Lies say, who we are is baseline.
Lies say, who we are is who we are when we aren't trying.
Lies say, we woke up like this and that's our true self.
Lies say, it shouldn't be this hard if it were right.
Lies say, taking up too much space is not who we are.
Lies say, the life we've chosen is too much for others.
Lies say, alone.
Push.
In the personal apocalypse, the inertia, the exanimate self leans and groans.
Truth is quieter.
Harder to believe.
Saying, who we are is made.
Who we can be, takes work.
Push.
Truth says, build yourself.
From the ground up. From the ruins.
Demolition. Two hands, against the wall.
Push.
Who we are takes creativity.
Not born in our final form, midlife is evolutionary.
Revolutionary.
Truth says, make yourself.
Truth says, the spark of fear may lead to the spark of joy.
Complacency is not the truth.
Emotional, creative, spiritual, relationship rhabdo.
A breakdown from lack of use, from stillness without rest.
Push.
The edges of who we are, expanded.
Exploring beyond where we have ever been.
Wake up like this, building every day into new.
Two hands, deep breath.
Push.
