Permission to play with a soft focus so you can relax into life.
Permission to worry, to obsess, to write, to be a bit antsy. To just breathe, walk slowly, and write in your journal again and again.
Permission to bend like a small branch or ground your Self with deep roots. Permission to change your mind; to use off-colored language, swear words; to use words that a nice girl doesn’t say. Permission to eat too many potato chips and, then, indulge by eating a pint of chocolate mint ice cream. Permission to prepare, savor, and sip a cup of hot, ginger-mint tea while listening to an audio that brings laughter because you have been there and because the woman speaking helps give you permission to raise your voice and sing your song. Permission to just sit and observe the shadows created on your deck when the sun shines on the snowy porch rails. Permission to listen to the rush of cars going too fast driving by your home. Permission to not enjoy noise that mask the bird songs and the quiet you love. Permission to call out as Raven in 1000 voices-irreverent and trickster-ish. Permission to ignore the dust and listen to your love’s concerns. Permission to say something hurtful and make amends. Permission to cry while watching a romantic comedy. Permission to not explain why you are crying. Permission to write and let your nose drip because you are in flow and you don’t want to stop to find a Kleenex. Permission to not be totally prepared but to go ahead anyway and do the thing… Permission to wait for inspiration. Permission to give all you can when you want to and to laugh at what others take seriously.
Permission to reach out and ask for help and permission to be disappointed.
Permission to keep at it. Permission to realize that even the best of intentions don’t always produce the intended results. Permission to be okay with that.
Permission to stop when it’s time and continue if you haven’t said it all.