I closed my eyes last night, and I thought about what I like best. Not of the world, or of my life. Simply of myself. I’m indulging in asseessing what I love most, just about me. Tonight, I’m loving me. I love my eyes, that hold a secret. My hair, soft, full, and rich. And I love so, so much more…
I love that I can love anyone, male or female, classically beautiful, quirky and unusual.
I love that I can love many and nobody (that I care about) will tell me that I can’t. My only restrictions in making a connection with a person are if they fail to meet my standards on intelligence (not limited to any one kind of intelligence), kindness, and openness.
I love that I am someone with whom others feel a strong urge to be honest and forthcoming.
I met a friend, just the other day, who told me that she’s honored that I opened up to her so quickly. “I was only returning the favor,” I said, “You dropped all pretenses with me straightaway.” “So I did,” she responded, “I guess I didn’t think about that.”
I love that I’m still a child at heart.
I’ve been told that I am “kind of an adult and kind of a kid,” and I am quite proud of that. I do realize I need to grow up a little and be a little more adult some days– but at least I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be a kid and I think kids appreciate that. Which makes me a natural caregiver.
I love that I’m not scared to take on challenges or push myself beyond my comfort zone.
To fail. To be silly. Because I’m so much more than I would be otherwise, because of the times I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable. Just taking off on an adventure is half the battle.
I love being me.
I am so grateful that I am who I am. I know that I am lucky to be such a perfect fit with the person that is me.
Tonight, I am grateful.
If nobody has ever stood you in front of a mirror, describing every tiny bit of you that is beautiful, do that for yourself. Please. Indulge yourself in recognizing your own beauty.