September arrived like a test of patience and clarity. It felt like the month wanted to ask me, Do you know what you’re really after? Opportunities came and went, some lifting me, others cutting a little deep. In the swirl of it all, I kept circling back to one word: Alignment.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, alignment is
“an arrangement in a straight line, or in correct relative positions; a position of agreement or alliance.”
It’s about things fitting together, whether in geometry, in groups, or in life. But alignment is not always about perfection. It’s about honesty. It asks us to notice when something resonates and when something doesn’t, even if rejection or loss is part of the process.
This month, I felt both ends of that spectrum. A job in New Jersey that I had quietly hoped for slipped away. I didn’t have the experience they were looking for. Rejection has a way of echoing louder than acceptance, and I’ll admit it stung. It raised doubts, making me wonder if I had misjudged my skills or if I would ever be seen as enough. However, almost as if it were a balancing act, another offer soon appeared. A position closer to home. On paper, it looked promising, and the fact that they wanted me felt like an ego boost. Proof that someone out there saw my potential. Yet when I sat with it, I realized it didn’t align with the life I’m building right now. Saying no was difficult, but it also reminded me that belonging somewhere doesn’t mean I should belong everywhere. Alignment requires discernment, not just acceptance.
Now I find myself waiting, hopeful, for another opportunity, one that actually feels aligned. The position aligns with my career path, academic studies, and personal values. It’s a waiting game, and waiting is never easy. But this month has taught me that being in alignment doesn’t mean rushing to fill the gaps; it means trusting that the right pieces will meet you halfway. Here are some famous voices that echo this truth:
Im learning that alignment doesn’t guarantee smooth sailing. It doesn’t mean rejection won’t sting or decisions won’t feel heavy. Instead, it gives me a compass. A way to measure if I am moving in step with the person I am becoming. And as September closes, that compass points to patience, self-trust, and the reminder that alignment is not about saying yes to every door that opens, but about knowing which ones are truly mine to walk through.
Poem of the Month
by me
In Line With Myself
I used to chase every spark,
hands raw from holding flames
never meant to keep me warm.
Now I pause at the threshold,
listening
does the floor echo my name?
Does the air carry my breath back whole/
rejection cuts, yes,
but it also carves a path,
a sharper edge of knowing.
Alignment is not applause,
not every nod of approval
it is the quiet click
of self and circumstances meeting
without force.
And if the right door waits,
I will know it not by chance,
but by the steadiness in my chest,
the soft alignment of who I am
with where I’m called to be.
What I’m Currently Working on
To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.
August slipped away before I could catch it. Perhaps that’s how months pass when your life is in a state of transition. You look up and realize whole weeks have vanished into something new. This month, the rhythm of my summer gave way to syllabi, assignments, and log-in screens.I officially began graduate school at the University of North Texas, pursuing a degree in Library Science with a focus on Children’s and Young Adult Librarianship. It’s still strange to write that out. Me, a grad student. Because if I’m being honest, I never really saw myself as “academic.” My path hasn’t always followed the neat, linear lines of a textbook.
And yet here I am, with discussion boards and readings stacked up next to piles of ready notebooks, stepping into a space that demands more of me than I expected. It’s exhilarating, yes, but it’s also a bit terrifying. Some days, imposter syndrome finds its way into the room before I do, whispering that maybe I don’t belong here. Which is why this month’s word feels so important. Belonging. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, belonging is:
“an affinity for a place or situation; the feeling of being comfortable and accepted.”
It sounds simple, almost effortless, as if belonging just happens the moment you arrive somewhere. But what I’ve learned is that belonging is rarely instant. More often, it’s something you grow into. Or something you create for yourself when the soil feels foreign. That tension is where I’ve been living for the past month.
On one hand, there’s the thrill of grad school: new knowledge, new goals, the possibility of building a life rooted in the things I love most. On the other hand, there’s the ache of dislocation. I miss New Jersey: the friendships, the little routines that grounded me, the confidence I found in navigating a place that once felt strange and then became familiar. I carry those streets and people like a second skin. And yet, I had longed to return to Texas. I wanted the closeness of family, the comfort of being near the people who know me from the ground up.
Coming home felt like it should be the cure to longing. But Texas has greeted me with complexity. Beyond family, the culture doesn’t quite click for me; the energy feels different, sometimes even unwelcoming. So I am caught between two landscapes: one that holds my history and one that holds my heart. Neither feels like a perfect fit, and maybe that’s what belonging really is. The constant negotiation between where you are and who you are becoming.
Maya Angelou once wrote, “You are only free when you realize you belong no place. You belong every. No place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.” I think about that often as I walk through my new routines. Perhaps belonging is less about perfect alignment and more about realizing that no place will ever feel complete without the courage to show up authentically. Brene Brown echoes this: “True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.” That’s hard for me as someone who is still learning to stand fully in myself.
It’s easier to shrink or to question if I’ve earned the right to sit in the spaces I’ve found myself in. But Brown reminds me that belonging doesn’t come from fitting into the mold. It comes from refusing to mold myself into something Im not. And Rainer Maria Rilke offers a softer wisdom: “The only journey is the one within.”Which makes me wonder if belonging is less about the external. City, state, campus, or community. And more about the internal. If I cultivate belonging within myself, perhaps every place I live and every role I take on becomes another layer of that belonging, not the definition of it. So here’s what I know as August closes:
I may not fully belong to Texas, and I may not be as deeply rooted in grad school as I hope to be one day. But I belong to myself, to my values, and to the journey I’ve chosen to take. And maybe, for now, that is enough.
Poem of the Month
by me
I Belong to Me
I am the house I return to,
the key always waiting in my palm.
No city can lock me out,
no classroom can shrink my frame.
I carry my own doorway,
step through, and I am home.
The streets I’ve loved will fade into dream,
their voices stored in my marrow,
but they do not define me.
Even here, where the air feels strange,
my breath makes the map.
I mark the ground with presence,
not permission.
Belonging is not borrowed,
not granted, not earned.
It is grown like a flame in the ribcage,
a quiet fire that refuses to dim.
And when doubt comes knocking,
I light every window,
answer the door with my whole name.
I belong to me,
and in that,
I belong everywhere.
What I’m Currently Working on
To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.
Patience. I want to sit with that word for a second. Not rush into defining it or dressing it up. Just let it breathe on the page the way I’ve had to let it breathe in my life this month. Patience. It’s not my favorite virtue, and yet it’s the one I keep getting handed. Like an unwanted gift that turns out to be exactly what you needed, even if it didn’t come wrapped in joy or ease or immediacy. Not dramatically. But definitely. What is Patience, anyway?
The word comes from the Latin patiēntia, meaning “the quality of suffering”—which makes it make a lot more sense, actually. Patience isn’t waiting quietly with a smile on your face. It’s enduring. It’s staying when you want to leave. It’s breathing when everything tightens.It’s loving something, or someone, or yourself…even when you don’t have the proof yet that it’ll all be okay. There’s a quote I found that resonated with me:
“Patience is not the ability to wait, but the ability to keep a good attitude while waiting.”—Joyce Meyer
However, I’d like to push that a little further. Because sometimes a “good attitude” is just not lashing out. I didn’t give up. I let it hurt and didn’t make it worse. That counts too.
This month, I have been sitting with uncertainty. Big things. Personal shifts. And maybe most meaningfully, I embraced my genderqueerness more boldly than ever before. People I miss.Conversations unfinished. Doors that wouldn’t open, no matter how I knocked.
And you know what? I didn’t kick them down this time. I sat. I sat with the silence and the non-answer. I chose slowness even when I wanted to sprint. I let space exist between me and resolution.
I told myself: “Let it unfold. You don’t need to hold the ending yet.” And that wasn’t always peaceful. But it was patient. I think that counts too. Patience isn’t passive. It’s trust wearing sweatpants. It’s saying, “I still believe in the garden, even when all I see is dirt.” It’s choosing not to scream at the seed.
Poem of the Month
by me
How to Be Patient
Step one: sit with the ache.
don’t ice it.
don’t explain it.
let it be sore, let it breathe.
even if it bruises your pride.
Step two: stop refreshing the page.
the message will come when it comes.
the moment will move when it’s ready.
no amount of checking will make the clock hurry.
Step three: whisper kindness to yourself.
not promises. not platitudes. just
“I’m still here.”
“I’m still learning.”
“I’m still worth it.”
Step four: let life take the long way.
the shortcut never sees the view.
and you are here to witness
not just to arrive.
Story of the Month
by me
The Waiting Place
There was once a boy who was always rushing ahead, certain that life was hiding something better just around the corner. One day, he met an old woman sitting beside a still pond. She told him this was the Waiting Place.
“How do I get out?” he asked.
“You don’t,” she said. “Not until you learn to love the pause.”
He sat beside her, angry and aching and anxious, but she didn’t say another word. Just smiled softly, her hands in her lap like she had all the time in the world.
Eventually, he stopped asking.
Eventually, he started listening.
Eventually, the wind changed, the water moved, and he stood—lighter, slower. somewhere wiser.
He turned to thank her, but she was gone. Only her seat remained, still warm.
Im heading into August with the same warmth in my chest. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m staying close to the quiet. Close to the process. Close to myself. Patience isn’t easy, but it’s powerful. And I’m practicing it like a spell.
See you next month.
—Lj
What I’m Currently Working on
These days, my schedule feels like a careful balancing act as I shift from teaching to focusing on writing and refining my craft. I returned to Texas around June 20th, having completed my year of service in New Jersey. I’m no longer tutoring, as that was part of my program at the time. With middle school testing behind me, I find myself eagerly awaiting the start of my graduate school classes at UNT on August 18th. This past year has been quite transformative, and I’m excited to share my plans and the progress I’ve made during this time. To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.
Birthdays can be a double-edged sword. For many, they are moments of celebration and joy, a time to gather with loved ones and reflect on the past year. Yet for others, particularly those who have walked through darkness, they can evoke feelings of introspection, nostalgia, and sometimes even sorrow. As someone who has grappled with thoughts of suicide, I’ve come to realize that birthdays represent a complex interplay of emotions and experiences.
On one side, there’s joy—the happiness of another year of life, a moment to celebrate milestones and personal growth. However, there’s also reflection on what has transpired, the struggles faced, and often the painful memories that can resurface. Like I exhibit in my blog post from my birthday last year when I share my poem AS I LAY ME DOWN:
As I lay me down to sleep
One last post to
his Facebook feed.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
He types, clutching a bottle of
pills ready.
But if I should die
before I wake
He hits postand
hopes for his end.
I pray God my soul
will take
He’d rather die than keep
making countless mistakes.
But if I should live for other
days, I pray
The Lord guide my way
And here I am still today.
Each year, we are reminded not only of how far we’ve come but also of the battles we’ve fought, some of which may still linger. In reflecting on my own experiences, I’ve found that taking a step back during these times can be crucial. I think about the importance of embracing both the light and the shadows that come with birthdays.
When we confront our emotions and allow ourselves to feel—even the difficult ones—we open up the possibility for healing. I remember a quote that resonates with me: **Albert Einstein**: “Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.” This idea encapsulates the essence of what many of us face—noticing that setbacks or dark times may also provide us the chance to rebuild, to reevaluate, and to appreciate the life we have.
As I reflect on past birthdays, including my twenty-ninth, I recognize a shift in my perspective. The years leading up to this point were filled with challenges that shaped my outlook on life. Each birthday now feels like a celebration not just of life but of resilience—the ability to keep moving forward, despite the odds.
Here is a look at my differences of perspectives from 29 to thirty through a birthday poem I wrote last year to the one I wrote this year:
“Happy Birthday To Me”
Twenty-nine years today
have come and gone.
I can’t believe that I
have lived this long.
Eighteen years, I thought,
was enough. What will become
waits for us.
Eleven years more, I
have gotten past that.
Over four hundred bright
new days I have seen with
all their clumsy blessings.
Just shy of one thousand
hours I almost didn’t see.
I have decided to keep running.
All the endless possibilities and
beauty I never could see
before I truly started living.
Eleven. Eighteen.
Twenty-nine.
“Twelve. Eighteen. Thirty.”
It’s my Birthday again
Twelve years
of just straight living.
since
Eighteen years of age
I tried to stop my existence.
Thirty years old now,
Jesus that’s crazy!
Twelve. Eighteen. Thirty.
it’s my birthday once more.
Twelve years of living, breathing,
since
Eighteen’s desperate night
I tried to silence my heart’s light
Thirty years old now,
Jesus, that’s a miracle.
I often think about the tools that help me navigate these feelings. Engaging in mindfulness, connecting with others, cultivating gratitude, and practicing self-compassion have all become essential practices. They remind me to stay present, to acknowledge my struggles, and to cherish the moments of joy that arise amidst the chaos.
Additionally, taking breaks and expressing my feelings through writing have been therapeutic. These practices support my mental health, especially during birthdays when emotions can feel particularly heightened. They foster a sense of renewal that allows me to enter a new year with hope and determination.
I encourage anyone wrestling with their feelings about birthdays—or any significant milestones—to give themselves the grace of reflection. Embrace the complexities and allow yourself the time to recharge. Entering a new year can serve as a powerful reminder that, while we may face darkness, there is also light to be found.
In a world that often encourages constant celebration, it’s okay to step back and acknowledge the full spectrum of our emotions. Whether through quiet moments of meditation, heartfelt conversations with loved ones, or simply taking a walk to clear our minds, let’s honor our journeys and the unique paths we have traveled.
Each year brings new possibilities—a chance for growth, healing, and a deeper appreciation for life. So, let’s embrace our complexities, lift each other up, and step forward into 2025 with open hearts and renewed spirits. Here’s to both the celebrations and the reflections that shape us, making every birthday a meaningful part of our journey.
What I’m Currently Working on
These days, my schedule feels like a balancing act of teaching, writing, and refining my craft. As I look ahead to the year winding down and the prospects of what comes after July, I’m eager to share my plans and continued progress. To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.
Poem for the Month
This month I am going to do something a little diffrent as I am going to post a poem of one of my friends they wrote to me for my Birthday. I am going to do so annamylously because I do not have permision to share it. However it highlights the sentiment I discussed about friends and connections helping in these times of complexities. this amazing friend wrote this nameless poem in resonse to my poem “Twelve Eightenn Thirty.”
Mr. Lj is truly great,
he has a heart of gold and a mind that shines,
even in the darkest of nights,
it’s no secret he is a true delight,
for if there was no Eccles,
there’d be no bright ideas from a friend in sight.
This month’s blog will likely be similar in many ways to last month’s blog post on growing/moving on as the themes of growing/moving on and loss & celebration are alike in many ways. As many of you know, at least if you follow the site’s Facebook page, This month has been a crazy one as not only did I just arrive in my temporary home for a year in New Jersey to start a new venture with The Go Foundation, but I also lost my sweet Hazel dog of sixteen years before leaving.July was an emotionally crazy time, to say the least. Starting the month celebrating the 4th of July, seeing family not often see, getting hyped for the trip, for the move, then getting struck by guilt and loss at the last second.
July is often full of celebration due to the 4th, and it is the height of true summer, causing many nations and lots of happiness. We may forget that the very celebration of the 4th is ridden with loss. America fought and won the fight for its independence, but that didn’t come without mountains of loss. The decision to go to war and battle for this right did not come easy; often, any measure of loss comes with that type of heaviness. Taking Hazel to the vet and ultimately coming to the decision to help her pass was no different. Selfishly and unfortunately, I believe I was holding back the process to leave it to be dealt with after I left for New Jersey. Fortunately, I came to my senses and knew I needed to see her through, not just for her but for me, too.
Most often, this is how loss is dealt with because no one wants to deal with it and confront it head-on, hence why these types of decisions commonly do not come easy, no matter how big or small perceived. Hazel, even through her discomfort, pain, and need for release, with her big ol heart, regardless of how unsteady it was to find out, knew I needed her to show me how strong to be in times of loss and change. Though naturally shy, nervous, and timid, she welcomed that vet staff and her passing as the best thing ever; the staff was her family, and she was so strong, bold, and happy the whole time. So, although I did cry that day, those tears, as heavy as they were, were sobs of celebration.
Hazel lived sixteen beautiful years with me and my family; she outlasted many furry companions and helped love on many new generations that came during her life. Her life was one to be celebrated, not regretted and feared, and I am so glad that I made the tough decision to be with her for that moment, as we both knew it was coming. I just needed time to truly process that and not hide and try to run away from it. My only regret on the matter is how long I took to come to that decision and how close I made it to my time of leaving, making it even harder than it was already going to be leaving my one remaining dog, Duke, who has always had both Hazel and me and within the span of two weeks he presently has neither. As Hazel taught me in her last moments in the difficult times, we need to show strength, especially for and to those we love. My time here in New Jersey is only short and I have a big, supportive, loving family, so Duke will be just fine. In case you missed it on Facebook, here is my poem in honor of my sweet Hazel Bazel:
As I type this blog post on loss & celebration and do so greatly needing a reminder of sweet Hazel’s lesson of strength in difficult times as I am going through it today. These types of days were and are expected during this big adjustment during this year in New Jersey, but awareness does not make things less hard; it just makes it easier. So I write on the loss and the celebration of Hazel because I need to for myself, and I know that. Maybe Hazel’s lesson will touch someone else as they read it, and they needed to be taught this as well, but regardless, loss is hard, but that is why we celebrate. Whether the loss you are going through is personal, global, partnered with grief, or the loss of comfortability due to change, know that your feelings are valid, warranted, and, most importantly, need to be coupled with celebration. Loss, when followed up by celebration, ultimately results in inner peace and trauma passion; this is why we have holiday celebrations such as the 4th of July, but caution yourself not to forget or discredit the small things too, like in my circumstance for instance; I am struggling today because of the newness of moving to New Jersey from Texas without my dogs and far from family, but I am fortunate for my loving and supportive family and for this great opportunity and venture post-graduation that I prayed for and that is worth celebrating!.
What I’m Currently Working on
As you can guess, after reading the above blog, I have just moved to NJ, and my year of service as a fellow with the GoFoundation has begun. I am also busy submitting my poems and short stories anywhere and everywhere. As always, to follow my progression or what I am doing, you can head over to the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page where I post updates and share fun tidbits daily.
Author Recommendation
This month, to continue the memory of Hazel even more, I share one of the short stories that I wrote a few years ago in preparation for the inevitable day that ultimately arrived earlier this month. It is heavily influenced by my life and inspired completely by Hazel’s story completely:
The Other Puppy
This was not supposed to be my life. I was the other puppy. The brown puppy. My brother, the black one. He was chosen. My Boy often likes telling this story. Mom went out searching for a new friend for him. She met me and my brother in one of those parks for cars. I was scared I didn’t know what was going on. My brother was excited, though, greeting each new person like his new best friend. I was apprehensive, unsure, and shy. Mom was immediately comforting to me. She paid attention to both of us, but she lingered on me.
I thought I didn’t like the attention at first, but then suddenly, I was disappointed when she stopped massaging my ears. Rubbing between her thumbs and index fingers like a soothing pinch. I enjoyed it and wanted her to begin it again, but she scooted back from us, smiled, and then there was a flash. I put my head down, attempting to shield my eyes. My brother looked directly at the fleeting light sticking his tongue out. I later learned that was Mom taking a picture of the two of us to send to My Boy. She asked me which one I wanted, and I said The Black One, My Boy would say and then begin to chuckle as he continued. Then Mom said too late, I got The Other One. That’s me. The Other One. The Other Puppy.
I am unsure why My Boy refers to this as one of his favorite stories. The first time I heard him tell it, I had nightmares for nights after of him taking me back to exchange for my brother. When Mom picked me up in her welcoming yet cautious arms loading me inside her car, carefully driving out of its park, I had my suspicions. It took me time to accept and get used to my new home.
My new home meaning My Boy. He is perfect. Caring. Compassionate. My voice. My champion. My Boy. Any doubt is replaced with love in his presence; which I have been around for thirteen years. Of course, that’s not to say the doubt never crept in. It was in my nature to worry. My Boy, my home, just made it easier to cope with. Through the numerous changes: inside dog to outside dog, new dogs, new people, new places, even as I became weaker and all my brown brindled fur turned to grey, My Boy always showed me love.
As my teeth began to pour out like rain and my sight went as foggy as a druggie’s brain. He would tell me how beautiful I was and how lucky he was to have me. It was nice to hear and much needed because I am so naturally The Other Puppy or other anything. I don’t call for much attention, not like most dogs. Its always been easy for me to fall back and take a secondary role. What’s that saying, ‘never the bride, always the bridesmaid.’ That’s how I felt most of the time. Wait my turn until the needier was taken care of, and let me tell you, I have had some needy roommates. Dumb, goofy, loud, obnoxious, and full of themselves.
My Boy loves dogs more than he loves himself sometimes. My Boy is like me in that way. Anxiety, depression, and lack of self-worth are all ways that we could be described as. In fact, some may define us by those words. That’s okay. We know we are more. Sometimes it takes the other to remind us of that, but we do. We rely on each other. Have all these years. A kiss. A nudge. A snuggle here or there delivered at the right time could mean the world. Some days it has literally meant life or death for My Boy. When I was still an outside dog, just on the brink of becoming an old dog, My Boy tried to take his own life. I heard Mom say he was tired of worrying and being afraid. He would have rather sank into his daydreams than live life knowing he wouldn’t achieve them. I understood that.
That’s when I realized My Boy was an other like me. That was why we clicked. That is why Mom brought him me instead of my brother. We needed each other. I made it my mission to become an inside dog again once he returned home. I knew I could be what he always was for me. A blanket of love and worth. And now I knew just how important a job that was.
That’s why my current situation kills me. Lying on this doctor’s bed that reeked of all different kinds of dogs, looking into My Boys tear-filled eyes. He was keeping the tears in because he didn’t want to cry in front of the doctor, but I knew once he left to prepare for my final nap, My Boy would cry with the power of a tsunami. This moment had been coming for a long while, and we both knew it. Still, that didn’t make it any easier.
I had to be strong and confident for him. Four years as an inside dog since My Boy’s forced brush with death and two inside his little home all to ourselves. Just me, My Boy, and Good Boy. An ironic name for my newest roommate. I often think My Boy calls him by this as an incentive and not because he is, in fact, a good boy. When My Boy brought that dog home, it was clear he was a bonified bad dog. My Boy has put much time into Good Boy these two years. I also followed suit, especially since sensing my time was nearing.
I taught Good Boy everything I knew about My Boy. I tried to explain how My Boy and I are others and would always take a step back for those who needed more attention, like himself. I warned him that although he would never show it or admit it directly, My Boy needed assurance and recognition that he was valued and loved. I told him again and again how much My Boy needed reassurance, and that soon, he’d be the only one here to take care of My Boy. I was never sure if Good Boy was truly listening or grasping any of what I told him. It worried me desperately in these last couple of days if I would be leaving my wonderfully precious Boy, who though now was a man, would always be My Boy, without a dog who truly understood him and knew what he needed. Today as My Boy carried me through the house Good Boy gave me a look that told me he did understand after all. The big blonde dog with his usually perked-up ears now drooping and cocked let out a small whimper as I was walked out of the house to take my final car ride.
Back in the little room, the doctor left us in just like I predicted My Boy lost himself in grief, bursting into a fit of tears. I mustered up the little strength I still possessed, edged myself to the end of the tall, smelly doctor bed, and nudged my dry brown nose forward, meeting the temple of My Boy’s head, ruffling some of his autumn-colored hair.
He looked up from the defeated position he had taken with his face buried in the palm of his trembling hands, crouched forward on the bench near the bed. Our eyes met, and I knew he felt what I did — The love- — The time and life spent together — The endless appreciation. He stopped crying, as a tender smile replaced his look of dread as his leafy green eyes lovingly locked with my muddy brown ones. I heard the doctor renter and saw My Boy give a slight nod toward him before suddenly wrapping around my neck in a warm embrace that felt like a fireplace on a cold winter night.
“My sweet, sweet girl. Thank you. Thank you so much.” My Boy sniffled in my good ear while he messaged the other like Mom used to. I felt a pinch but ignored it as the moment felt too good. My Boy put his nose to mine and everything else disappeared from thought— the smell, the pain, the fear.
” I can’t imagine if Mom had brought that other puppy to me instead. You were exactly what I needed.” I drifted off with those words looking into My Boys loving eyes.
Though the month of February is coming to its quick end, being as it is the month that has a holiday dedicated to love within it, I wanted to write this month’s post on love, of course. Whether romantic, platonic, or even self-love, this month is supposed to be all about celebrating each and every various form of love that enriches our lives. Unfortunately, I think Valentine’s Day focuses too closely on the romantic form of love as the month is marketed as a time for lovers, dates, and romance, but love is so much more than just that.
According to the Oxford Dictionary, love is defined as “an intense feeling of deep affection.” Love is a feeling, one of the most powerful of all other feelings, as it is the one that often overwhelms and controls most human emotions for better or worse; it’s a force that drives us. That is why, like I said, it is so limiting to have the holiday about love just be centered and marketed in the romantic form. Love extends to so much more than just romance; though romance is fun to think about, love is about the raw, passionate, and caring nature of our core feelings. For some, romance is not at the center of their core, so they detest Valentine’s Day and February and sometimes in association with the two love together. That is so unfortunate because love is so often not in relation to romance but to passion, like the love of your family, friends, pets, hobbies, and so on. Most importantly, though, love should extend to our feelings about ourselves.
Self-love is a concept that is often overlooked but is crucial for our overall well-being. It’s about treating ourselves with kindness, compassion, and respect. In a world that constantly tells us we’re not good enough, practicing self-love is a radical act of rebellion of sorts. It’s about embracing our flaws, celebrating our strengths, and recognizing our worthiness. It is often said you can’t be loved or know love until you love yourself first. This sentiment is why this year, for Valentine’s Day, I celebrated myself as my Valentine and even wrote a poem about it, which, if you follow the JustLj Facebook page, you already saw it, but here it is.
As February comes to a close, make a commitment to love yourself fiercely and unapologetically because you are worthy of it and deserve it. Remember that. Then spread that love to those around you in your life to create a ripple effect of kindness and compassion that will make a true holiday of love worth celebrating.
What I’m Currently Working on
Currently, I am in week seven of eight of two courses at SNHU, Advanced Fiction Writing Workshop and Seminar in American Literature, instructed by Professor Abigail Rose-Marie and Jacqueline Smith. As always, to follow my progression or what I am doing, you can head over to the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page where I post updates and share fun tidbits daily.
Author Recommendation
This suggestion may seem odd for this blog post, but Matthew J. Kirby writes a compelling and raw narrative on the importance of self-love and looking past physical attraction and whatnot. Yes its true I am not recommending a romance even though its Feburay and this blog is about love and instead am suggesting a historical fiction about Jack The Ripper and the Elephant Man. The protagonist, Evelyn, is a matchstick girl who is such a coming-of-age character. She has flaws, she hates herself and isn’t looking for love or to be a hero. She is just looking for safety. That is so relatable, honestly. So if any of this interests you which if you’ve read this far into this blog Id like to assume it does go check it out A Taste for Monsters!
JustLj.com 