Me but loves and accepts myself as I am. (I'm already enough)
Me but trusts myself unconditionally to get past whatever is thrown at me. (If I've made it through everything so far I'll make it through this)
Me but isn't bogged down by an obsessive need for perfection. (The world will not end if I finish something before perpetual alteration)
Me but doesn't shy away from being saccharinely optimistic on the internet. (Cynicism is overrated)
Me but eating oyster crackers at work on a Monday. (With iced honey green tea)
It feels like okayness isn't dependent on circumstances beyond my control. Because truly, isn't it exhausting to believe that so many things have to be exactly a certain way for things to be okay? For me to be okay? It's not even a pursuit, really, so much as it is a practice. Progress feels like the world blooming around me, not dramatically but in tiny glimmers and silent gasps. It's a strategy game - one that doesn't require a consuming amount of attention. Okayness! It's what's for dinner
