Red Flags
What looks and feels too good to be true. Usually is.
The snow crunching beneath my footsteps echoes through the trees, ricocheting white noise into my ears—the perfect concoction for restful sleep and a private conversation in the middle of a hibernating forest.
Grimm is always beside me. At home, she lies by my feet and breathes softly, waiting for my next move. Sometimes, she has a strong resolve, other times, she twitches at each turn of my head or clearing of my throat.
Today she pounced beside me, sticking her face in the powdery tracks of deer and turkeys.
When it’s quiet like this among the woods my mind sees fit to wander.
January was a quiet month filled with loud contemplation. I’ve considered up-rooting a certain area of my life and transplanting it elsewhere. I’ve wondered about my path, and taken note of the ways I get in my way. I started a bookstagram where the imposter syndrome is sticky. I’m surrounded by aesthetically pleasing comparisons even though I should be patient because I’m still figuring it out. It should be fun not debilitating.
During my walk, I noticed that all the things that felt extraordinary had never lasted long on the pedestal above me. It’s as if they’re iron and time is ocean air.
People I’ve met and admired slowly became regular people again, full of flaws, mistakes, and the blindness we all seem to have when looking at our reflections.
Places that looked shiny and special eventually shed their skin revealing the dull hue of normalcy.
Jobs that felt right—became wrong.
All the while, the most rewarding things in my life have been the things I’ve had to fight for the hardest: the things that looked ugly, the people who hurt me, and the experiences we’re here in these bodies for.
The biggest red flag is the seemingly unflawed. It‘s a red flag, not because those things or people should be ignored but because when the wrapping paper of our expectations falls away to reveal the raw reality of what has always been—it only hurts us. The pain of that reality is what we have to live with. A pain that could have been avoided by taking a moment longer to look.
Breathe deeply in your lungs the scent of how perfect it all seems. Feel it. Then let go of the idea that it will always remain so.
Thanks for reading,
Rach.
This theme has been very apparent lately.