I don’t care if you use grammar properly or if you spell every word correctly. I do my best and I make these same mistakes.
I don’t care what you drop onto your plate. How tiring to police the food of others. Please don’t judge yourself against me, and I promise to do the same.
I won’t scrutinize what you do with your time. Your hobbies are not for me, and mine are not for you. I appreciate that.
What you wear isn’t for me. What feels comfortable on your body is also none of my business. It’s your body and your sensate experience. It’s your comfort. I’m happy if you are comfortable.
If drops of sweat cling to you on a hot day or your hair’s been made funny by the wind, I’ll hug you the same. You don’t need to apologize for your mortality.
When you are very old and slow, I may forget to slow down sometimes and for that I’m sorry, but I don’t need you to be faster. I need to remember that I can go fast and slow, and isn’t that a privilege?
It doesn’t matter to me if your house is decorated or plain, grand or small. I can say, those beds heaped with pillows have never been enticing to me. On the other hand, I suppose I’ve encouraged my children to pile them, and jump into them on occasion.
If you car works, it’s good enough, and nice ones are admirable, too.
Your dog, fancy or scruffy…I’ll scratch just about the same.
Cobwebs? Are OK.
Your job? Are you happy in that job? It’s not my concern what you do if you are happy.
Your God, your holy texts, your place of worship? Yours. But know there is great responsibility in bearing an exclusive dogma.
Does your body rub against mine, just a tiny bit, when you try to politely slide past me in a too-tight space I’m filling a portion of? I love you the most, my friend.
Does walking into a room of laughter send your heart rate soaring, anxiety pumping through your veins? And does that send you out of your center, into a version of yourself that’s too loud, too funny, too quiet, too expert, or otherwise too untrusting of most of us in the room? Welcome, I see you are uncomfortable and really, so am I.
It’s you, practicing the art of being you and ever-correcting your own course, that I adore. The rest is fairly impermanent; effervescent.