“If you’re not obsessed with your life, change it.” ~ Mia Soarez
I read this quote the other day, and at first it made me angry.
What about the fucking loneliness that lies beside me in the sheets at night?
The fear that rides the subway in the morning with me?
The discontentment that sometimes pops out of my drawers at work?
I look at my walls in the morning when I wake—
fuck I’m obsessed with my Ganesh painting on rice paper from my trip to Bali,
and the fresh tulips that sit beside her.
The way my yoga mat smells of Bekah’s homemade lavender spray.
This beeswax candle burning.
The plants I’ve named Spikes and Cheese.
The kettle in my kitchen
and the bright yellow steel iron frying pan from Ulla.
I’m obsessed with all my belongings sparking joy.
Thanks Sarita—your Instagram post
led me to Salvation Army with about 10 gallons of items that needed to be released.
Shaken to the ground.
Damn I’m obsessed with that.
I’m obsessed with how I only buy the best coffee
’cause who’s got time for anything else?
I’m obsessed with the lentils I’m bringing for lunch that I cooked with coconut milk and organic vegetable broth.
I’m obsessed with how depressed I get, because thank god for the joy that follows.
I’m obsessed with tears that release pain when I won’t do it myself.
I’m obsessed with this playlist. Right. Now.
I’m obsessed with Orly, who taught me to be obsessed.
Loneliness, thanks for cuddling me so tight last night to remind me what a good hug and company feels like.
And fear, thanks for visiting me on the subway to remind me it’s all a blessing.
Thanks discontentment for reminding me to be humble and keep me eyes open for the next joy and opportunity.
Cause damn, I won’t forget that I love to wander.
And I’m obsessed with that too.
This obsession spoons it all.
The way you spoon in a tent in the fall
once the embers are the only thing left.
And fuck, I’m obsessed with that too.