The longer I live, the simpler I get. Things are clearer, faster. Not much matters except love — for myself, for others.
Why for myself?
My capacity to love me is the cap on how much I’m able to love you. It would have to be. And yes, loving the self takes practice. Awareness. A lifetime.
Self-critical moments are ever-available, arriving promptly, dressed in starched collars, ready to work, should we call on them to speak, offer authority.
To improve any relationship, love your cobweb corners, and that time you couldn’t fly. Hold your own hand, walk gently into your day.