– Cheryl Strayed, Wild: A Journey From Lost To Found
Blood is thicker than water, my mother had always said when I was growing up, a sentiment I’d often disputed. But it turned out that it didn’t matter whether she was right or wrong. They both flowed out of my cupped palms.
I knew if I allowed fear to overtake me, my journey was doomed. Fear, to a great extend, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told. I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brave. Nothing could vanquish me.
Fear begets fear. Power begets power.
The sun still stared ruthlessly down on me, not caring one iota whether I lived or died. The parched scrub and scraggly trees still stood indifferently resolute, as they always had and always would. I was a pebble. I was a leaf. I was the jagged branch of a tree. I was nothing to them and they were everything to me.
You’re green, but you’re tough. And tough is what matters the most.
Alone wasn’t a room anymore, but the whole wide world, and now I was alone in that world, occupying it in a way I never had before. Living at large like this, without even a roof over my head, made the world feel both bigger and smaller to me. Until now, I hadn’t truly understood the world’s vastness — hadn’t even understood how vast a mile could be — until each mile was beheld at walking speed.
Just tell society and their expectations to go fuck themselves.
The universe, I’d learned, was never, ever kidding. It would take whatever it wanted and it would never give it back.
Grief doesn’t have a face.
There’s no way to know what makes one thing happen and not another. What leads to what. What destroys what. What causes what to flourish or die or take another course.
In my perception, the world wasn’t a graph or formula or an equation. It was a story.
We aren’t poor. Because we’re rich in love.
How wild it was, to let it be.