We sit in a small coffee shop on Victoria’s Avenue, sun bursting through the windows, a tasteful pumpkin latte and the breeze of autumn rushing through our hair.
– If only I would be like this women in my head Angela! Tall, classy, thin, self-condifent. If only…
It’s hard for her to see herself separate from how she compares to someone else. I know, because I’ve done this too, so many times.
Couldn’t stop wondering what does this measuring do to our souls though, this comparison of competency and beauty? Wondering how could I teach her… how could I teach myself the truth, so that we would always know… that we are indeed masterpieces. That we have a rhythm all of our own.
I guess the best way is to live like it’s true about me.
“What is art? You are. And the mayfly. And every wasp novel ever lived. And the hard Winter overthrown by Spring. Motherhood. Grass. Jupiter. Your annoying neighbor. Art is.”
–N.D. Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl
And so am I.
PS: Thank you Emily Freeman for reminding me this in such a beautiful way