Stop Apologising

Stop apologising for taking up space.

Stop checking how much your stomach sticks out and fold that shirt down.

Resist sucking in your stomach when you pass by a reflective surface (I won’t demand you stop looking, because that’s still too hard to do).

Stop. Stop trying to make yourself smaller and flatter.

JUST STOP.

When you laugh you need your whole body, and the flatter you try to make yourself the sadder the world becomes.

Don’t do that.

Don’t overthink each meal or each snack or if this is just one more goddamn night alone because if only you were the spitting image of a Victoria Secret model, or even that Lara Croft look alike down the road, you’d have someone wrapped around you like a devoted otter.

Just stop.

Most people only cuddle at night for a few seconds anyway.

And if you’re crying for those empty five seconds, that’s ok.

The good stuff of novels was made from those kind of salt water droplets.

And Hemingway (yes, that guy who was literally the king of manpain) says to just write clearly about where it hurts.

It hurts for lots of reasons. You glance around you and notice the 20-something year olds of your community may all look the same. (You may not be an Modern Orthodox Jew, but I know this applies to every single one of you.)

They’re helping reform the religion. They’re serving their country. They’re married with two kids and halfway through that 4th degree.

Every single one of them has real-life-adult written across their foreheads and they’ve all got capes made of rainbow unicorn dust,  threaded through with the chords of indi pop music…

Then there’s…

There’s you. No, a group of you. The outliers. The ones apologising for taking up space.

Staying up late sometimes, making somewhat bad decisions, or sometimes no decisions at all. Going on bad dates just to say you’re trying when you know you want someone better, unsure of how to balance your bank account and caring just a little enough to want to donate money to some cause instead of taking part in it.

You. Aren’t. A. Waste. Of. Space.

You had dreams, their colours just got moulded into that brown Play-Doh clump everyone manages to make when they press a multi coloured one together for too long.

You’re resetting them now. Taking them apart.

1. Get an awesome job. 2 . Tackle each fear. 2.1 Slowly. 3. Set a goal and realise that you’ll fulfil a subset of a subset of that goal which will eventually lead you to the big cheese.

And you don’t have to apologise for that.

Last year, I sorta ran a 5k marathon.

I went to a town on the Kineret and watched the sunset one beautiful night. It was glorious.

I moved 3,000 miles across the ocean following a long forgotten passion for a place to see if it would reawaken something within me.

I don’t care if that takes time and makom.

I am here. I am here.

And it is a brilliant thing.

A miracle.

A tragedy.

Never a waste of space.

 

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Those feet are the only ones you’ve got to wander this world.
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