Life has never felt so real to me. I don’t know how much sense that can make to somebody else, but it makes sense to me; because love is the only thing that’s real. And so much of what I based my life on over the years was less than loving.
I wasn’t a “bad” person. I was more goodie-two-shoes than bad. But goodie-two-shoes was closer to self-righteous than I realized. And I worked hard for picture-perfect, the house with pretty wallpaper, the muscled boyfriend, the red Mercedes. Nothing was enough.
There isn’t enough of anything else to fill our need for love. I realized this 30 years ago, before I wrote the little book “The Person I Don’t Have Time to Be … Is the Person I Am.”
Although I wore designer clothes and had them tailored to fit, I didn’t feel like that person. Well, maybe I did … how was I to know that people who looked like they had it all together could feel like scared little girls!? It was like that cliche, “If the club will accept me, how good can it be?”
In recent years, though, it dawns on me that everything in my life seems more real … and it’s not because THINGS are better or worse. I am more present, more fearless, and more motivated by what matters than I was 30 years ago, 20 years ago, or 5 years ago. Decades of practice have paid off! And life, my life, is more pure and more loving. And that’s what makes it real.
Just imagine what can happen in another 30 years.