It’s scary to share what’s inside of you, to bare your soul. I felt it deeply when I began teaching yoga; I was offering the tenderest parts of me. I also feel it when I share my writing.
Yesterday I had a humbling a-ha. These words I write aren’t mine alone; I don’t own them. Sure, they’re technically my intellectual property, but my words are a culmination of the words I’ve heard before, the experiences I’ve had, the things I’ve read, the way I’ve internalized life. The collective unconscious has a huge effect on the way life plays out.
I wholeheartedly believe that the things I share are needed in the world … reminders to slow down, to pay attention, to feel, and to observe what it is we’re all doing here, together, in this lifetime. I don’t think I’m special or extraordinary, the opposite, in fact. I’m just deeply driven to share my own humanity in the hope that I help others. In the hopes that they, too, will feel free to share. I am the messenger of something greater than me, and for that i am grateful.