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Dear Tiffany,
You’re the Little Engine That Could, and I love that about you, but when you get this tired, maybe try being the Little Engine That Could Take A Break.
Make some tea. Cut up some strawberries. Watch some Netflix. (No multitasking.)
Love,
Me
I just spent the better part of an hour noodling around with Joseph‘s new Shotbox, which is a fancy photography accessory (so I can finally take pictures of small scenes without all the clutter in the background! And with lighting! It’s SO FANCY!!!!)
So!!!! If you would like to see these fancy photos, you can subscribe to the #100loveletters email list, because an email will be going out tomorrow with some of the results of my noodling.
http://tiffanysostar.us16.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=3c400335fd57acf5716460825&id=8757c06a2a
Sometimes a love letter to yourself is a mirror, and you allow your own clear and compassionate view. And sometimes a love letter to yourself is an echo, and you let yourself see with someone else’s clarity and compassion.
And so, today’s contribution to the #100loveletters challenge includes something said to me by someone who’s know me a long time.
–
Dear Tiffany,
You are brave.
You think of yourself as ‘anxious’, and you read a subtext of ‘fearful’ into anxious, and you read a subtext of ‘cowardly’ into fearful. ‘Anxious’ is one of your core narratives. And that’s okay – there is nothing wrong with being anxious and your anxiety is such a valuable part of your story and your sense of self.
Anxious does not equal cowardly.
Your anxiety does not make you a coward.
But you forget that, and so when you act in ways that are particularly brave, it shocks you.
So when Ash responds to your shock at your own bravery, listen. He is right when he says:
‘You have always been brave.
This is merely a new expression of your courage.’
You have always been brave. You are still brave. You are so anxious and you are so brave.
Love,
Me
Today’s love letter to myself is Lauren Margaret‘s garlic soup and a lot of hot tea. Sick day self-care. #100loveletters
Dear Tiffany,
The thick green leaves around the base of your centrepiece succulent have all suddenly drooped, and the jade tree is dropping leaves in sad and dusty resignation, and you’re congested and achy and sad and this first official love letter in the challenge was supposed to be upbeat and set the tone for the next hundred days but it’s not. I mean, it’s not upbeat. It might be setting the tone, but let’s not dwell on that.
It was supposed to be handwritten, artistic, something to be kept in a box and brought out every so often. “Ah, yes, remember that very first love letter in the project? So good. So good!”
But what about this, my sad and ambitious self. What about this. What if you could start out on the wrong foot and still keep going? Because you will. Because that’s what you do, and I love that about you.
What if it was okay to set your expectations high, and then fall short, and still be okay with it? Because even though you won’t – you won’t be okay with it – you know that it’s possible to be okay with it, and I love that knowledge in you.
What if you write a love letter every day and you don’t end up with a box full of gorgeous art, because you never manage to make anything artistic in a whole hundred days of love letters?
What if you kill that new plant, the one you spent $9 on instead of the usual $3 for your fairy garden plants? (What if it dies, and what if you take a clipping from the jade tree and put it in that spot?)
What if you don’t have to get it right the first time?
What if it’s just okay to do it and forget about it being “right”? (Yeah, I don’t believe that either.)
But still! Look at this! A love letter anyway.
This is what I love about you – you can see the more wholehearted way to be, and even when you can’t reach it, you don’t close your eyes to it. You can see the path that you will maybe someday be on, and even when it’s disappointing that you’re not there yet, you still keep moving forward.
You are always looking for the contrast. The sparkle in the dark, without denying the gloom.
Go on with that dark and sparkly heart. You *do* have what it takes. You do have the sticktoitiveness and the resilience. You will keep going. I love that about you.
Maybe tomorrow, something artistic.
Today, something disappointing and real.
Love,
Me
