the writing that some people have been doing lately has completely inspired me to share parts of myself, here and now, that i don't normally.
it's not that i mean to edit myself; although i am the first to admit that if i write something a bit uncomfortable, the post is gone before i can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

i don't like that i've developed the habit of not trusting my own words, of not trusting the gentleness of the people who read them.

a lot of the blogs i'm addicted to belong to something called "the self portrait challenge", which i can't belong to because i don't own a digital camera (more on that later...). i have to say, though, that i have my thoughts and ideas for each 'theme' that they offer.

october's theme is imperfections, and oooh, boy, is that a hot-button topic already. i have been fascinated and thrilled to see how differently the women i read respond to it - such as michelle, who only wants to honour the parts of herself she has grown to love; or amy, who feels too tender to post anything; or liz, who acknowledges that she feels envious.

i tend to be somewhere in the middle. on the one hand, i feel like i need to acknowledge the parts of myself that are not perfect (because which, really, are?); i also want to cradle them gently, and love them as pieces of the gorgeous whole, because we all are gorgeous creatures, flaws and all. in fact, i think it's specifically our flaws that make us who we are. they individuate us.

here is one thing about myself that i am working to change: my impatience.

i find too often that i am planning for the next moment, instead of enjoying the one that the universe has given to me now.
i tell myself, next week, when i'm done this project, i'll be so much less stressed, or i'll feel better tomorrow, without understanding the opportunities that each moment presents. i'm always wishing - for more sleep, more energy, more time with my loved one - when i don't stop to look around.

let us not look back in anger or forward in fear, but around in awareness. ~james thurber

here's a good example, and one i have to take a DEEP breath to admit to (and no, i'm not sure why). i would love, absolutely love, to spend more time with my boyfriend - as it is, right now we get a few hours a week. sometimes i feel like we're having a long-distance relationship, even though we live within fifteen minutes' walking distance of each other.

this is the way it is, for now. we're both busy students; we have lives that we're committed to. but every so often i find myself wishing, hoping, that something will change and we'll suddenly have the opportunity to have sleepovers again; to spend the day together, cooking food and going for walks and taking naps; to be able to go somewhere for the weekend, just the two of us.

i feel guilty for admitting that for so many reasons. i feel guilty because i know how lucky i am to have him at all; i feel guilty because i feel that's demanding of me; i feel guilty for all the people out there who are still searching for, or who have lost their loved ones, and who might be thinking right now, at least she has somebody. what is she complaining about? and it's true. i wouldn't trade him, or our relationship, for anything.

i feel guilty because in the meanwhile i am missing out on what the present is gifting me, and it is gifting me so much:

• having iron & wine on my stereo (which is co-operating for once - the thing is almost as old as i am),
• a large grey-and-white cat licking earl grey tea from his paw,
• a belly full of apple pie and vanilla ice cream,
• a clean apartment which is making me feel like i can breathe again, (and smells like lemon cleaning solution - is it weird that i love the smell of cleaning fluids?)
• lots and lots of neruda poems

the moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. ~henry miller

that is more than enough for me: finding the extraordinary in ordinary moments. i wonder what tomorrow will bring?