Caught up in the details.

How often do we dwell on the bad shit?
It's overwhelming sometimes. It is very easy to sink, down, down into despair and never resurface.
Life is hard. It only get's harder as time goes on, and the years roll by. But I've decided, this evening, to write a list of my favorite things. I haven't limited it to simple things, and I haven't limited it to sweeping life philosophies. Because when it comes down to it, my existence in this universe is multi-channeled, and I have the freedom to explore my desires, and to grab onto that which makes my life beautiful. What is your list of favorite things?




Showering in the evenings (not so late that my hair is still wet when I go to bed). The feeling of clean skin sliding under the covers is absolutely delicious. And if the sheets are freshly washed, all the better!

Recognizing the potential and opportunity in a painful situation, and finding the strength and confidence and desire to pursue that.

Reading before bed. It's a pleasure I rarely give myself. But it's wonderful when I do!

Stumbling across some old album you used to listen to as a kid/young teenager. Even if the music is awful (or if it still speaks to you now), it's a charming little flashback that unearths perspective regarding where I was at 13, and where I am now.

Yoga. Oh god, oh wonderful, wonderful spirit, I love love love yoga. Come back to the breath, always the breath. Breathing into the discomfort sends my distorted muscles and mind into strength and balance. And I've only brushed the tip of what's possible.

Figuring out that I've only just begun.

Falling into vulnerability, whether it be in someone's arms, or in myself. It's a beautiful and frightening place to be.

Opposites. Or more specifically, the delightful tension they create between them.

Finding the balance between my own perspective and another.

Discovering the spectrum of things.

Sushi. Good sushi. And ginger. I love ginger how other people love wasabi.

Sudden inspiration, and having someone who's kind and creative enough to be my wall to bounce things off of, and letting me be their wall.

Crying. Though not particularly in public. But there have been multiple times in my short existence where I've felt so overcome that sobbing feels a little like an emotional (granted, not as happy happy pleasurey) orgasm.

Being reminded that I don't have to take myself seriously.

Queer. Courage. Authenticity. The strength to call something by its true name.