Today I censored myself.
I don’t do it very often, but I deleted a story an hour after posting it.
It wasn’t because of specific responses, and it also wasn’t because I changed my mind about the topic, but I just realized in the aftermath of publishing that I don’t want to send out any kind of negative energy anymore.
Not even the slightest bit.
No more whining, no more victimhood, no more passive-aggressive shit, no more blaming other people, no more looking for love and attention in all the wrong places.
Now this isn’t particularly easy for me, believe me, but it’s something I just HAVE to do.
When it comes to the nature of the stuff I want to post in particular and the way I want to be in the world in general, the bar has been raised to a ridiculous altitude.
It’s almost invisibly high up there.
But I have to.
Of course I realize that I am totally doing this to myself, but it feels like the right thing to do.
The only thing to do.
It feels like it’s my responsibility and my vocation to bring good stuff and good stuff only to this confused world.
It is the mere reason for my materialization, my incarnation, my realization.
Not because lashing out or being critical or judgmental is bad, per se, but because I feel that it’s not part of how I want to be in life anymore.
How do I know?
I just do.
After decades of attempts to hurt and punish myself, I’ve found my direction, my mission.
I just know what is right and wrong to emanate, at least for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to stop those wrongs from happening.
It kinda sucks, but it’s mostly pretty cool.
It will make things easier and simpler and more powerful, eventually.
It will keep me close to love and kindness and all the other radiant members of the Happy Family.
I just know.
Today I was reminded of how I want to live, and who I want to be.
And I took the freedom to shut myself up.
Feels pretty good.
(Photo by @ewxy, for Unsplash)