Sometimes I think how silly we are to take our lives so serious. How we get so caught up in our own dramas. In our own stories.
It all feels so real when we are going through it. We don’t always know how to separate ourselves from our story. From our circumstance.
Every difficulty we overcame in the past is a memory. A memory now was a very real thing then.
I remember one night where I cried so hard for a boy I liked who didn’t want to be with me anymore. When it was happening it was so painful.
Now, looking back, it feels like nothing. I don’t care about him anymore. I don’t even think about him. It’s just a memory.
So, too, will all other painful experiences eventually be. A distant memory.
All the times I’ve taken life so seriously was a waste of a potential easier, less stressful experience.
When I remove myself from my self created emotional wounds I am so much better. So much stronger. So much more in tune with the vibration of trust, peace, connection, ease and flow. Then I realize what a dumbass I’ve been for doubting and getting lost in my own melodrama.
But it’s short lived. Soon enough I’m sucked back into internal chaos. A chaos that at times I feel addicted to. Accustomed to. Familiar with.
How silly I am.
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