A Fear of Not Mattering

Does it scare you to think that your life will never matter?

What is it about us that has this urgent need to know that we matter? That we’re doing something important?

We want to quantify it in any way we can.

Through social media. Through resumes. Through number of views. Through our bank account.

We are trying to quantify that which is unquantifiable.

What is this pressing need to be important and who are you without it?

Who are you without trying to impress others?

Who are you without trying to prove yourself?

Who are you when you choose to just sit, breathe and be?

Who is that person and can you love her?

I have been thinking so much about who I am, who I really am.

I’ve attached all of these things to my identify: speaking, writing, being a leader, having my own business, being a teacher, etc., that when I am not doing these things, I don’t “feel” like myself.

But the truth is that I am always me in every single moment.

The truth is that I am pure love and energy.

So why do I feel like, when I am not engaging in these acts, that I am no longer worthy of my own love and admiration? Of my own happiness and approval? Of my own pride?

I want others to appreciate me but I am not even doing that job for myself.

I know that I love to create and make beautiful things.

There is a deep truth that has revealed itself to me:

There is more to life than just doing the things we want and feel like we must do.

I was always running before I could walk.

Well, I want to walk for a bit and feel the wind touch my face and know in these moments that no matter what pace I go, I am forever enough.

I was born with abundance.

I was born being enough.

And I lost my knowing somewhere along the way, but I am slowly remembering.

And it is okay to go slow.

It is okay to take the time to grow into an incredible tree, into yourself.

And I think there is deep brilliant humor in the fact that I am such a perfectionist and yet feel the most free, feel as if I am speaking my greatest truth, when I can own it and simply say that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I’m just doing what feels right.

I feel calm. I feel a release.

I am a perfectionist.

And yet I find so much peace in admitting how much I don’t want to be. How much I’m not. How much I just want to ask for help instead of acting like I have it all together.

And maybe I feel this way because being confused, stumbling through life, is perfect too. None of us have the answers. None of us ever will while on earth. We do our best to get through it. And there is absolute beauty and perfection in that.