The journey is not over.
Gotta keep moving forward the rest of this life.
But a pit stop at the tops of molehills
to celebrate the miracle that we are alive at all
is not only excusable;
it’s endorsed.

They say it’s not about winning
just doing your best —
when the world is trying to silence you
sit you down
shut you down
put you in your place,
not being ashamed to exist is victory.

Success is learning not to shy away from the sound of your own voice
not wincing at your distorted reflection
as you pass through the glass and metal cityscape
ebbing from and flowing to Sisyphean wage slavery.
Graciously accept the compliment
even though you don’t need his affirmation
because you nurture and love yourself now.

I’m not afraid of death,
only not having lived enough.
What is enough?
Is it ever?
To live with enough curiosity and awareness
enthusiasm, applause and hope
enough courage, love and forgiveness –
that is enough.

I’m not afraid of making mistakes,
dropping and breaking your precious vase,
but rather, not brushing up against the boundaries
not getting close enough to smell the
burnt popcorn dumpster fart skunk vomit
burnt hair morning breath of failure.

Better to trip and fall; scrape knees and cry.
Better to jump in the puddles;
wander off and pick flowers on the
dangerous paths our mothers warned us about
and make awkward wildflower and weed bouquets
that wilt before you get to Grandma’s

than remain dry and unsoiled
unbruised in your safety bubble
not leaving a mark
sneaking nondescriptly away,
no evidence that you were ever here at all.