Hi Reader,

Do you remember what it was like the first time you wobbled down the sidewalk on a bike, feeling the handlebars shake, maybe almost toppling over but pushing on anyway? Or hitting your very first off-key note on a new instrument, hoping nobody but your cat noticed? How about that thrill (and terror) of speaking a new language out loud for the first time, even if there is no one around but yourself? Or the quiet determination it took to coax your body back to motion, inch by inch, after an injury?

What did it take to go on?

If you're anything like me, you tried, made a little bit of progress, then wondered if you’d ever get there at all. Maybe you quit before breakfast, felt bad for quitting, and then picked things up again (because stubbornness is, in fact, a skill). Maybe you wondered how long it would take, started to suspect it was taking forever, got annoyed, trudged forward anyway, celebrated a mini-milestone (unless you forgot to celebrate, which happens more than I care to admit), took a break, felt guilty for the break, pushed harder than ever before, forgot to practice some days or weeks or months, started again, ...

Sound familiar? Sometimes, the path feels like a weirdly designed obstacle course, full of zigzags and surprise mud pits that no one warned you about. On those days, frustration is my constant companion. I let it in, pour it a cup of tea. “Yes, Damianne, that’s frigging annoying,” I say to myself, sometimes even out loud (does it feel less or more strange to talk to yourself out loud?). And somehow, letting the frustration sit in the room, even for a moment, makes it less powerful. I remind myself I’m human, unapologetically imperfect, absolutely worthy. I take stock, dust myself off, and get back on my path.

Some days I can handle it all on my own. I take pride in that. But I’ve learned, and keep relearning, that I don’t have to. I thrive in community: my best friend, my mastermind group, my coach. These are the people who can hold me gently when I need it, or give me a pep talk when “gentle” just isn’t cutting it. I’m intentional about it now. I treat my chosen family (and myself) with tenderness because building lasting connections takes work, purpose, and a bit of mischief.

So, here’s your homework for today:

Pick a relationship, maybe the one with yourself or maybe with a close friend, that feels a little neglected. (We all have one.) Give it fifteen minutes today. Let that be a time of silly connection, of noticing beauty, of delight. Hunt for something lovely: send a ridiculous meme, take yourself out for a treat, write a note, or simply share a hearty laugh. Let delight sneak up on you.

Go on, consider this your official invitation to be gloriously, imperfectly human with someone who matters, especially if that someone is you.

Joyfully,
Damianne

P.S. Anything come to mind as you were reading it. Hit reply and let me know. Your response will come straight to me.

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