I’d wondered which book of life I was meant to write.

Which stories I was meant to tell. Mountains I was meant to climb. Moments I was meant to seize.

So I weighed all my options. Picked up all the pens and put down the ones that felt too heavy. I drafted up a different story. Tried on all the hats.
Took them off. Missed the ways they warmed my head last winter. But shredded them, still. An effort to make room for perpetual summer.

For some time I sat silent. I watched my life like it was a movie. I played every role. Supported every character. Directed every scene. Decorated the set. Sang in the chorus.

All the while, I screamed for something to tell me where to go. How to move from now to next. I asked all around me. Please show me a path. Please find me a truth. Please send me a sign.

And when they all looked away, I dug through the mud for answers of my own. What I found were pieces of gold. I had waited patiently for a God and now finally it was time for my own mind to point me in the right direction.

So I took off the shoes my toes felt too tight in. I set them aside. I felt a breeze. I breathed. First in and I felt all my fears. Then out and I felt all my future. A sigh of relief. I let the water meet my feet.

And this is how I learned that directions do not happen to us. That if we want what the world has written, we must look at it straight. Ask plainly for what is meant to be. Work hard for the ways we want it. Get specific in the knowing. Demand the damn thing.

This is how I learned we can make enough from even the smallest slice. Revive our lives. Make it what we imagined before settling for what we got.

This is how I learned the only way magic comes —- when we make it.

So now, what we do (I think), is speak the things we want from the world. Weave it to life. Ink down our own commandments. Pray to ourselves first. We give our God that glory.

Then, we let go of the things that make up our heavy hearts. We eat the cake. We say no and remember the road back to ourselves. We cry the soft tears of freedom. Taste the sea salt. Slurp down the sugar.

We quit apologizing. First for ourselves. Then for the things we can not be sorry for.

We keep doing this. over and over again. So many times that being true is our only habit.

And above everything else,here’s what we do:

We write our own stories.

We change our minds.

We write something new.