Fucking Valentine’s Day, man. Bringing up all kinds of shit. And then there’s this: my kids beaming this morning with hugs and chocolate “Feliz Dia de San Valentin, Miss June” and sweet texts from my love and a bff picking me up from school gifts in tow and a phone call with mom and inspiring collaborative Vola dinner date and love from co-workers and a group hug that turned tears to laughter and powerful soul bearing burlesque and incredible reminders from fellow writers and yogis about vulnerability, openness, and holding our love as much as our pain in our most sacred body space. Silly me, we all have more Valentines than we can count. To think I was holding onto tiny shreds of hurt when a whole universe full of light exists.
And to you beauties who are single and perfect in this moment, I see you. You fucking ROCK. You love the shit out of this crazy world no matter what. And I adore you.
And a self-love letter of the variation we wrote to ourselves in my last workshop:
Light your toes on fire
Burn the maps the back-up plans
Wrong is not your name/your name is your own your own your own! (June Jordan poem inspiration)
Even in the dirty wash-basin
You find pieces of glitter
Among the stars.
