the unlived life.

 

it’s been harsh this winter, and as I’ve collided into this quietness of soul beckoning its need to dominate my person, it’s been more of a life lived in inner dwelling. the frosty 5-degrees air made it a little harder to work feverishly on what I dream of— it’s been more of a struggle to maintain my motivation to be as loving and warm as a sun.

I’m becoming more and more sensitive, I can see. my world is being pruned to grow towards becoming more and more observant instead of a player in the fields. it’s been hard to be like this, but winter is helping me surrender into it. it’s an unlived life of so much smallness, almost quite invisible to most eyes.

a few months ago, I remember marvelling at how wondrous it felt doing work backstage at some event I had at work, almost receiving no recognition, just being there, invisibly navigating the process without having to put myself out there so energetically. I had a heart filled with intention, beating for the flourishing of the project, and it was the most creative part. ever since, I knew a part of me would always love the silent, invisible work that nobody sees.

it’s been like this lately, tiptoeing everywhere, not making a fuss, akin to the slow unravelling of spring, always my favourite part of the year to witness and be there with. what a beautiful thing to be that kindred spirit to these budding trees, caressing their every progress.

I’m changing, and I’m learning to accept how I’m changing. I used to shine so bright before the world, and now I’m moving towards the silence of being a little slow, a little bit more fragile and broken, being real and authentically true to what the heart of this universe in me feels.

my greatest unlived life is the one of sensitivity, artfulness, ease and slow, gentle prowess. and my greatest responsibility is to create a safe haven for that kind of life to blossom. it is February, and there is no fear that those intentions will bloom into a life so.. extraordinary.