“How far have you come in life?”
I’ve been thinking about this question a lot lately. And not even just from the beginning of life until now, but even just these last six months.
I was on the news advocating for bail reform, especially in strangulation cases. Then I started posting about my healing journey and my dating endeavors, and honestly, I kept wondering what the heck I was even doing.
Why am I telling the internet all my deepest, most inner thoughts when half the time all it does is open me up for ridicule?
Is this healthy?
Is this stupid?
But then people would thank me for what I was doing. They’d tell me my writing helped them somehow, and I started to realize maybe there was a reason for all of this.
Other than pure catharsis.
I still don’t really get it.
Why so many people enjoy reading what I write, whether it’s my books or my confessional posts or my poems. I can’t wrap my head around it, but I’m thankful so many do. Because without my love for writing, and without the reach I’ve gotten on different platforms,
I never would have found this one man from California.
A totally different time zone.
A totally different part of the country.
Just this random person who somehow found me, then decided to message me, and then I decided to open the DM and reply, and he just so happened to make a joke that made me do a double take and stutter over myself.
And now I truly believe I found the kind of love I only thought was real in fairytales.
I didn’t think this existed anymore.
I didn’t think it was real.
But I think I’m holding it in my hands right now, and it’s so beautiful and I’m so grateful for this gift. I wish I could hand it to everyone.
But I can’t.
What I can do is write about it and hope I describe it so specifically and so well that if anyone ever sees it, they’ll recognize it.
So they know what it looks like when it finally finds
them.
So they know they deserve it too.
Because everyone deserves to find love.
Every single person.