I’m submersing myself in inspiration this week.

I’m curious to know what happens when I take actions consistent with being inspired. I often take actions to be inspired, and I actually spend much of my time being inspired by something. But I’m curious to know what happens when I submerse myself in inspiration.

What happens when each action I take is aligned with breathing life into life itself?

What happens when I devote the minutes in my days to the realm of the inspiring?

What happens when I infuse my daily life with that which is enlivening?

As I thought on Sunday about conducting this experiment, I thought of three questions I’d like to answer:

1. What would it look like to live from a space of generativity, creativity, and inspiration?
2. What structures, people, actions, and ways of being are in the way of my being inspired?
3. What is inspiration, what does it look like, and how does it occur?

For me, choosing inspiration looks something like this:

• I choose to read a book that inspires me instead of watching a TV show that only entertains.
• I choose to watch a cool documentary instead of browsing Facebook.
• I take time each day to research and write about something I’m passionate about.
• I take time each day to journal about my goals.
• I practice yoga and meditate with the intention to grant myself and life being.
• I listen to music and its nuances without distraction.
• I observe, acknowledge, and honor others’ beauty and power.
• I talk to people who speak generatively and authentically.
• I wear clothes that are beautiful and brightly colored.
• I smile at strangers instead of waiting for them to smile at me first.
• I speak to people in a way that moves conversations forward. I practice generative speaking.
• I smile, laugh, and share happiness and beauty.
• I do my work within a larger context or, at minimum, with integrity and honor.
• I eat my food with intention, and I honor what I put onto my plate and into my body.

These are just some of the many ideas I’ve had, and I know I’ll have many more as I explore this.

What inspires you?

What, if anything, blocks your inspiration?

What would our world look like if we lived from the space of inspiration? Do we already do that? Is our world what living an inspired life looks like?

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

My mind loves to complicate things.

It needs more, wants more, freaks out, runs wild, makes up stories, and so much more.

It weaves complicated webs of distortion.

It spins fascinating tales.

It drums up drama.

It whispers worries.

It loves doing its thang.

And sometimes it keeps me from doing mine.

Who would I be if my monkey mind weren’t running the show?

I mean, really?

Who would I be?

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

I don’t have much to say tonight.

Sometimes there truly aren’t words.

Prince died.

I laughed so hard about tuna melts that I couldn’t breathe.

House renovations take longer than I ever imagined.

I really want an egg…a fried one…I wish it would cook itself.

I believe in magic.

I believe in love.

I have a long list of things to do tomorrow.

And I’m going to bed.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Today it took me 7 hours to write 600 words of web content.

Today my friend Peter said, “Share your slumps with me. It’s more fun that way. Milk them for all they’re worth!”

Today we received a hummingbird feeder in the mail from my dear friend Wilson.

Today my sweet friendy left me the nicest voice messages.

Today my friend told me that when I’m happy, he’s happy and meant it.

Today my husband stopped grading, held me in his arms, and gave me sweet kisses.

Today I drank green juice with garlic in it.

Today I wore a sexy red dress just because.

Today I cried six different times for no particular reason.

Today I took a walk and saw baby geese.

Today my Sholuna told me that she loves me, sent me a picture of herself making a funny face, and asked me if I still wanted a face transplant.

Today I found my box of sacred altar items.

Today I ate a burrito at a new Taqueria.

Today I saw a super cute photo of my little sister.

Today I got a bloody nose.

Today I offered my shoulder to a grieving stranger.

Today I reached out and responded instead of shrinking away.

Today I looked up at an almost-full moon.

Today I found our heating pad and placed it on my womb.

Today I lived.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Sometimes my self-expression seems like a dream.

I have a vision of who I am and who I want to be.

I have a vision of what actions to take and what a fulfilling life would look like.

But then there’s my everyday life. The life in which I often pass my time doing things that aren’t exactly me and aren’t always fulfilling. There’s all of the time that I pass that’s devoted to making it through the day, the week, the month.

One thing I really struggle with that’s in the way of my self-expression and fulfilling my vision is my relationship with food. I’m addicted to sugar, and I’m addicted to eating. I love to eat, but I also eat to avoid certain feelings. I mostly eat to avoid uncertainty and confusion. I spend a lot of time dealing with the impacts of this addiction.

I also struggle with feeling alone. I work from home, and sometimes I really miss having coworkers. I miss having a place to go and people with whom to interact. I miss sitting in my office with friends and talking about work projects, challenges, and goals. I miss waking up in the morning, getting dressed, and sticking to a schedule. I miss having direction and clear purpose. I miss having a consistent paycheck. It’s nice, of course, to sit around in yoga clothes all day and to have freedom, but it’s also nice to have somewhere to go. It’s nice to use my voice in interactions with others. It’s nice to hear others’ voices. It’s nice to contribute to others and to let them contribute to me. It’s nice to do all of it in person instead of over the phone.

I really like having structures that call me into being. I need to create more of those.

One of my favorite books is The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. The book has many philosophical underpinnings, but one of my favorites is this idea that while we all crave freedom, we also crave weight. We crave having something that keeps us connected to this earth and this life. We crave the weight of another, be it a lover, friendship, or career. At the same time, this idea that we only live one life and that this is it, puts a weight upon us that we cannot bear.

Sometimes I feel incredibly stuck between two equally strong forces: my fierce desire to live my life authentically and my need to live life according to society’s standards. I need to pay my bills. I need to be liked and admired. I need to achieve success. I suppose those are the main ones. Sometimes I find the tension between the two paralyzing, and I deal with my feelings by eating, napping, or watching TV.

Sometimes I return myself to simplicity. I remember on a soulful level that what I really crave is love. Adventure. Expression. I remember that there are people all around me. I remember that beauty is abundant. I remember that loving people is free and without restriction.

I remember that I’m most at home when I simply love another.

I remember that I’m most at home when I simply speak my truth.

Love and authenticity are so incredibly simple. They’re free. They’re always available to us. They’re endless.

Love, simplicity, and authenticity. Those are the things that I crave. Those are the things that I embrace. Those are the things that I somehow remember and forget, over and over again.

I feel the need at this point to remind myself why I write. I write to process. I write to get in touch with my humanity. I write to clear away the clutter. I write to gain clarity. I write to keep myself alive and active.

I am a processor. I process shit. I feel a lot, and I move through a lot. I process by writing. I process by sharing. I process by distinguishing stuff.

I share because sharing gives me a purpose for writing beyond myself. I share because I sometimes wish that I could know that someone else experiences what I experience. I imagine that someone out there will feel gotten and heard, simply by reading my blog. I want that for myself, and I want that for others.

I write and share because I want to live life.

I write and share because I want to become an increasingly beautiful version of myself.

I write and share because I want to engage and interact with you.

I write and share because I want to, and I need to.

I write and share because I’m constantly navigating the gap between where I am and where I want to be.

I write and share because doing so supports me in being authentic.

I write and share because doing so helps me develop my capacity to love.

Tonight I’m writing and sharing because I couldn’t seem to do anything else. I couldn’t seem to move in a healthy direction. I couldn’t put the chocolate down, stay awake, or stop watching The Office on Netflix.

I’m writing and sharing tonight because I needed to interrupt the pattern.

I’m thankful tonight for my dear friendy Christine who always encourages me. I’m thankful that she encouraged me to feel what I’m feeling and to take good care of myself.

I think that’s all for now.

As I write, by the way, I’m sitting in my new office. I’m listening to George Winston and enjoying an evening breeze. I’m feeling the tenderness of the place I’m in and my hopefulness for what’s next.

I’m sitting in this space of liminality and wondering, is all of life the liminal space? I think that maybe it is.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

I’m really curious about freedom right now.

For years I’ve been studying sociology and simplicity. I’ve been looking at the complexity of our social, political, and economic systems and the simplicity of the human spirit. I’ve wondered how complexity and simplicity coexist and how each impacts our lives.

My studies usually lead me to consider freedom—mostly what it is and how I can have it.

Today, as I think about freedom, I’m considering that the Self needs room to express—to be free.

I’m also thinking that the Self is an entity easily concealed by everyday life.

When we work regular jobs, we sacrifice some part of our natural expression to do what’s required of us. We wake up according to our job’s schedule; we sit, stand, or stay inside according to our job’s requirements; we talk to people whether we want to or not to get the job done; we eat according to our own and our coworkers’ schedules; we design our calendars to serve our work needs first and our family or personal needs second. We “take one for the team,” engage in the “daily grind,” and “work our fingers to the bone” to “make a living.”

When we buy stuff, we create physical reminders of who we think we are. We buy clothes that fit how we see our bodies; we buy furnishings that help us live our everyday lives; we buy toiletries that helps us look and smell the way we want to; we buy foods that make our bodies and health the way we want them; we buy make-up, clothes, and accessories that make us look like ourselves (or at least the selves we would like to look like); we buy gear that enables us to do the stuff we like to do. We surround ourselves with things that ultimately keep “us” in place.

When we engage with people outside of work, we often do so with people we find safe, familiar, and comfortable. We find friends and we stick with them. We surround ourselves with people who match who we are and what we want in life.

When we get married, declare lifelong friendships, and buy houses, we commit to the long-term. We say “this is who I love,” “this is who I’m compatible with,” and “this is where I live.” We say, “This is who I am, and this is who I plan to be for years to come.”

Our work, our things, and our people can easily comprise who we know ourselves to be.

None of this is bad.

Much of it is automatic.

Many of us have freed ourselves from at least some of it.

Some of us are completely trapped in it.

Some of us like it and even love it.

I wonder about our capacity to express our Selves in it. Can we sense who we are through all of it?

When I walked El Camino de Santiago last May, I became a big believer in pilgrimage as an access to experiencing one’s Self. On that walk, I carried 14 pounds of stuff, most of which was water and food weight that came and went every day. I wore the same skirt, dress, and two tank tops for 40 days. I went without a phone. I went without a husband or friends. I went without art supplies, a yoga mat, and running shoes. I went without a job to return to. I went without a home to return to. I went without books I love, things I love, and people I love. I went without knowing what I would return to or who I would be

I went without a clue about where I was going or where I’d end up. I did have a guide book, but I had never been to any of the places I visited, and the guide book left much to the imagination. Every day, I left one place, arrived at another, and met new people. Every day, I experienced something completely new. Every day, I had to be someone I didn’t have to be the day before (strong, brave, gentle, willing, peaceful, present, trusting, assertive, etc.).

Every day I had one job: to walk. Every day, I woke up, packed my bag, ate food, walked, ate more food, walked, cleaned my clothes, communed with people, ate more food, and went to bed. That was it. There were no other requirements or expectations.

My life was extraordinarily simple. I was profoundly free from my usual structures.

I felt liberated. I felt at peace. I felt happy. For more than a month, nothing was weighing me down. Nothing was keeping “me” in place.

I think we all have a right to experience this kind of freedom. It is a gift we give to our Selves to strip something (if not everything) away to see what’s there. Even if we choose to return to exactly from where we came, we’ve at least lifted the veil. When we lift the veil, even if only for a moment, we get a glimpse of who we are in our rawness.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Last week was kind of wanky. I had a moody and weepy weekend followed by a week of wanting to shrivel up and retreat. Then I gained some insight into authenticity and had a bit more room to breathe. Once I started to unpack my new home, however, all kinds of uncomfortable feelings emerged. I could feel myself shrinking with every box I opened. I could sense myself feeling more and more trapped.

In part, I was feeling overwhelmed by things. 95% of my stuff has been in storage for the better part of a year. Last May, I carried just 14 pounds of stuff on my pilgrimage. After that, I lived out of a couple of suitcases and boxes. I’ve gotten used to having few things, and I actually really enjoyed it.

Now I’ve got lots of stuff. Dishes. Pots and pans. Linens. Clothes. So many clothes! Bathroom toiletries. Back-up bathroom toiletries. Lamps. Rugs. Art. Altar items. And so much more! I’ve always been pretty intentional in terms of what I buy and keep, and I love what I have, but I do feel distinctly heavy having it.

I’ve also been following what’s familiar. I’ve been taking actions consistent with the kinds of actions I’ve taken in the past. I’ve been easily and naturally following the Annie Rose trajectory that is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I’ve basically been putting structures back into place that support the old me. I’ve been returning to a life I once lived. It was a wonderful life, but it is not the life in front of me now.

I’ve been given this incredible opportunity to invent myself newly. I’m without an established career, I’ve just moved to a new city, and I have a new house. I have a blank slate on which to create. I can choose to fill my actual and metaphorical home with stuff that returns me to my past and makes me heavy, or I can fill them stuff that propels me into the future and makes me light and free.

I choose lightness and freedom. My heart chooses them. My mind chooses them. My life chooses them.

This week I am embarking on a journey into lightness and freedom. In particular, I’m focusing on the following:

• Creating a structural (physical) environment that supports and calls for my self-expression
• Refining my diet and exercise routine for a healthy, happy, and light body
• Practicing discernment and awareness as I give my word to people and opportunities
• Tapping into my hidden dreams and deepest desires
• Creating a plan to pursue my dreams and deepest desires
• Listening for what the world wants from me that is mine to give

Some structures I’m putting into place are:

• Daily yoga (Monday-Friday)
• Daily walks, runs, or surf-sessions (Monday-Friday)
• Eating impeccably (Monday-Friday)
• Unpacking the stuff that I absolutely love and that fully supports my self-expression; putting stuff that doesn’t light me up back into the garage (or giving it away)
• Completing with people and activities that I’ve given my word to that are not my self-expression
• Journaling and exploring some of my deepest desires
• Doing my Landmark homework for my Money seminar thoroughly and with integrity
• Designing the rooms in my house to call me into divine action

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Apparently I just can’t stop blogging!

So what is authenticity? It seems to have a million faces.

There’s confessing what’s really for you and telling one on yourself.

There’s asking the question that you really want to ask (without beating around the bush).

There’s saying what you really mean to say without softening or otherwise adjusting it.

There’s being fully self-expressed; being who you really are and owning it.

There’s owning whatever your expression is in that moment (happy, sad, confused, uncertain, annoyed, etc.).

There’s saying what’s really on your mind, even if you don’t have to.

There’s being honest and truthful.

I have so many questions about authenticity. Do we always have to be authentic? Is it even possible to always be authentic? Is there sometimes value in lying and being inauthentic? Is there sometimes purpose in lying and being inauthentic? Is authenticity good? Is inauthenticity bad?

My friend and I think that our intuition sometimes tells us that it’s not safe to be authentic. We both said that we really honor and appreciate that. At the same time, we both think that the world would be a better place if everyone could be authentic all the time. We’d all know exactly where we stand, all the time. That would be so freeing! Think of what we could devote our lives to if we weren’t busy navigating inauthenticity or bullshit. Very interesting!

I have no idea how to smoothly transition to this next section, so I’ll just do so by being authentic that I don’t know (see how easy that is? And now I don’t have to waste time thinking about a transition!).  

As I’m writing this, I’m thinking about how I express various levels of myself with different people. Each person gets a particular level of authenticity from me.

I’ve often thought and heard people say that we should strive to be ourselves in any situation—that there should be some expression of ourselves that is consistent across time and space. I tend to agree with that, and I’ve definitely worked to be more of myself in more situations and to cease distinguishing between “work Annie Rose,” “play Annie Rose,” “friend Annie Rose,” “stranger Annie Rose,” and so on. I’ve strived to be who I am, no matter who I am with.

But is not sharing who you really are sometimes an act of authenticity?

Also, there’s being inauthentic—not sharing what’s truly happening—and then there is, as Landmark would say, being authentic about your inauthenticity. So I can choose to say, “I notice I’m being inauthentic.” I can then choose to share what’s really true for me, or, in my opinion, I can say, “I see I’m being inauthentic, and I’m going to continue to do so.” I think that’s authentic. I can also say, “I’m not going to be authentic because you’re a judgmental jerk and I don’t trust you” (totally authentic in some cases) or “I’m not going to be authentic because I’m still processing something and not ready to share what’s mine to share” (also totally authentic).

I also think we have to distinguish authenticity from other things. A few people have mentioned to me that we are sometimes inauthentic to protect others. I agree, and I sometimes do that. However, we are still inauthentic. We are inauthentic with good and even loving intentions, but we’re still inauthentic. Perhaps our concern is authentic, but our actions are not. Perhaps our love is authentic, but what we’re saying is not. Or maybe it is authentic, but it’s not the truth.

Is there a difference between authenticity and truth?

My friend and I also said that cultivating and providing a space in which people can be authentic is equally important to being authentic. Authenticity must have a space to land. Well, technically it doesn’t—we can all say whatever we want whether people accept us or not. But damn, it’s so nice when people provide a safe space.

So how do we be more authentic in our lives? How do we begin to trust that process? How do we begin to peel away the layers? Landmark helps. Yoga helps. Education helps. Lots of things help.

I told you yesterday that I have a friend with whom I agreed to share everything. We also agreed that we would always love and honor each other.

I have another friend with whom I have an agreement to say the really hard things—the things that are too nasty, mean, and awful to say to anyone. Sometimes we talk on the phone and in person and say, “Ok, what’s the really awful thing that you want to say that you can’t say?” Isn’t that cool? We say all of our horrible nasty shit, and we love each other, laugh with each other, and hold space for each other.

All of this comes from Landmark Education, by the way. They are fiercely dedicated to creating a world in which authenticity is the norm.

Anyway (enter next awkward transition), I think agreement is a powerful tool for creating a space for authenticity. We can agree to be authentic with people in our lives, even if only one or two of them. It can literally be an agreement of the relationship. A vow of sorts. It provides such an empowering context. We can say, “Let’s agree with each other to always be authentic, and let’s stand by each other’s sides as we do. It might get messy, but let’s do it. Let’s always be real with each other.”

I’ll be calling several of my friends to make this agreement explicitly over the next couple of days. I’ll also acknowledge anything I notice that’s in my way of being authentic with them.

You can even use this blog as an excuse to ask for authenticity. “Hey, I read this blog about authenticity. Want to try it?” Simple as that.

I love you! Thank you for reading my blog and engaging with me!

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

I’ve been having all kinds of thoughts about authenticity. It is a rich and dynamic subject! I’ve been talking to some of my friends about it and plan to reach out to a few more on Thursday to discuss some ideas (Elizabeth and Sho–be ready!). I’ll probably share what I learn on Friday. We will see!

For today, I have a guest post from my mom. She sent me this last night, and I think it’s lovely and connected to authenticity. Enjoy!

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Thank you, Jackie Robinson

I just finished watching Ken Burns’ documentary about Jackie Robinson. It brought forth in me a curiosity about voice. Voice is a powerful tool in revolution—in moving forward with a momentous leap in the evolution of humanity. Jackie Robinson was a symbol of the evolution of civil rights in America, and he searched for his voice throughout his lifetime.

He often had to wait before he could express his voice, and in some cases, people only heard his voice after he was gone. But he did have a voice, and he used it.

This makes me look at my own voice and the revolutions I partake in daily.  It is sometimes easy to speak, especially in those times that a wrong is so obvious that my voice comes out naturally and with power and truth behind it.  As Jackie experienced, that voice is not always applauded or accepted.  But there is a peace that occurs within that carries one through those uncomfortable moments of disagreement.  There are also moments when issues are not as clear – that are grey.  Where does voice stand at those times?

I think back to the late sixties and early seventies when people my age had a loud voice against the Vietnam War.  Some voices called all soldiers murderers.   I was “grey” about that because my brother was putting his life on the line in Vietnam.  I did not see him as a murderer.  I saw him as a young boy trying to discover discipline and to define himself as a young man.

Jackie Robinson was looking for a president who would bring equal rights to African Americans.  He was in the “grey” as he and his perspectives changed from Independent to Republican to Democratic.  But the whole time, he stood up, and he gave his voice.  A thing to be admired.

We live in a society that revers black or white, right or wrong, and often leaves no place for grey.  No wonder we cannot move forward!  We do not exercise our voices because we think that if we don’t express our voice in black or white, right or wrong, we’ll be ignored or even hated. We live in a grey world, but we’re restricted to black or white. In such an environment, it seems like it’s best to say nothing.

But Jackie had a voice throughout his life, and he made it heard. And guess what? He often changed his mind! He played in the grey. I contend that this is how he found his true voice—he was willing to take a stand, and he was willing to change his stand. And, he was always willing to give his stand a voice, whether or not it was popular or misinterpreted.

One of Jackie’s disappointments was that he was not given the chance to become a manager in baseball because he was Black.  A few days before his death, he was honored at the World Series.  When he spoke to the crowd, he graciously thanked everyone for the opportunity he had to play major league baseball and he voiced that he would not be content until he saw a black face as 3^rd base manager.

What does this give to me?  I am inspired by his courage to speak out in midst of being in the “grey”; of his being willing to change his mind when he discovered that his chosen political party wasn’t giving him what he thought they could and voicing his dissatisfaction. I am moved by him voicing his “stand” until his dying day.

We, most of us really, live our lives in the grey. Our lives are neither black nor white, right nor wrong. Our lives are lived in the in between. Yes, we have moments of clarity, and those moments allow us to be at peace with our voice. However, we must learn to be at peace with our voice during the moments of grey. It is okay to later eat our words. It is okay to be wrong or to be on the wrong side.

We gain power when we stand in the grey and we speak up.

If you are uncertain, speak your uncertainty! A conversation can only begin when you express your voice and when you can hear another person’s voice.  Conversation is what moves us forward in our human evolution. Speak! Be willing to get it wrong. Be willing to change your mind. Be willing to find your voice, your stand, your impossible promise for the world.

List what you stand for. Put your stand(s) on your bucket list and speak them into existence, no matter the consequences.  Be humble in your humanity and powerful in your voice.

Thank you, Jackie Robinson, for showing us the way.

Lavonna Stathes

Here I am, writing my blog after I said I wouldn’t this week.

Soon after I declared my hiatus, I emailed my friend Elizabeth: “Can I email my private blogs to you? I want to say whatever the fuck I want to say without everyone reading them. But I also want to share them and have a structure for writing them.”

“Of course,” she said.

Then I noticed myself editing what I might send to her. What is too private? What is too secret? What is too revealing? Is there anything that I can say that she can’t be with?

Then I realized that I chose not to blog this week because I bumped up against my capacity to be authentic. There’s a degree to which I’m willing to share, and a degree to which I’m not.

I wonder about that. I mean, I understand it—it’s not as though our society welcomes full authenticity with open arms—but I wonder about it.

What am I so afraid of?

It’s not just the readers of my blog with whom I’ve bumped up against my capacity to be authentic. It’s present in at least two of my close, personal relationships. I am honest and forthright to a certain extent, but there is this moment when I decide that I cannot say the next thing. There is this moment that I stop trusting that it’s safe. There is a limit, I believe, to what the other can be with in me.

There are parts of me that are secret. Most of the time I feel justified in protecting those parts. They’re mine, and they’re personal. But they’re also the most raw aspects of my humanity. They’re the parts of me that I actually long to share. I long to be able to say, “Here is exactly what I’m feeling and experiencing” and to know that the listener will still love, honor, and cherish me. And, if I’m really honest, I actually hope that the listener will love me even more. I hope that he or she will see a fuller version of me and hold me in my fullness. That is what I really long for.

So what am I afraid of?

I’m afraid that they won’t be authentic in response. I’m afraid that they’ll protect my feelings, protect themselves, or otherwise withhold. I’m afraid that I’ll lay myself bare and that they will not say what’s authentic for them in return.

I’m afraid that I’ll be authentic, and they’ll be offended, confused, or hurt. I do not like impacting people in that way.

I’m afraid that they’ll start to pull away from me, and that I won’t know for sure that they are. I’m afraid of being in that awkward and vulnerable place where the status of our relationship is uncertain.

I’m afraid of feeling disconnected and not knowing how to fix it.

I’m afraid of making a mess of things. I’ve noticed that being authentic is like peeling away layers of an onion. I say what I think is authentic, but as soon as I say it, something else reveals itself and I realize that it is what’s actually authentic. Then I say that thing, and oops, that’s not it, and now it’s something else. I’m so uncomfortable in that process, and I often wonder, will this person bear with me? Is this ok? When will he or she have enough? Will I ever figure out what the fuck I authentically want to say?

Ultimately, I’m afraid of being with some of the consequences of being authentic.

Interestingly enough, I notice that I’m not afraid of losing someone if they tell me straight up that I’m losing them.

I’m most afraid of my authenticity being met with inauthenticity. I’m ok with hard, challenging, awkward conversations—I just want them to be real.

I’m not sure what to say here, or how to end this blog. I just wanted to share what I noticed.

Also, I have one friend with whom I have a clear promise that we can share anything. And I think we do. At least I do. And it’s no surprise that I feel incredibly seen, safe, and known with her.

I want agreements like that with more people, and I want to know it’s safe. I want to provide that space for others too. I want to be the kind of person who can be with anyone, no matter what, and to see them—all of them.

I want authenticity, and I want it to be our norm.

If you’re reading this, this is my invitation to engage in authentic relationship with me. I know it takes time to build trust, and I know it can get messy. But I’m someone who is willing to take that ride with you.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose