A few weeks ago, I spent some time talking to a friend about what kind of partnership I want, describing it like someone getting in the boat with me: “It’ll be like, ‘let’s row together,’ or ‘I’ll row while you rest’ or ‘let’s just float for a bit, I’m so happy to be in this boat with you,’ or ‘there’s a storm coming, we’re in this together.'” I was very proud and feeling valiant for this boat idea, the intensity of it, the ride or die-ness of it. “He wouldn’t get in the boat – he didn’t even understand why we were near a body of water.” There, I’d done it. I am this brave, smart, intense person with her teetery boat heading for the middle of the lake, who is brave enough to get in with me?

And of course somewhere in the middle of the converstion she slaps me with this statement , “It’s all well and good to ask for that, you need to decide if you can actually handle someone in the boat with you.” Oh snap, I think to myself. So what you’re saying is I might have something to do with the fact that no one makes it in the boat with me.

This love stuff is hard. Vulnerability is hard. closeness is hard. But I’m trying. I’m trying.I want to love. Fully. I want to show up as my full self. I’m not just talking about romantic love. I want to bring my full self into every room. I want to stop being a martyr. I want to risk being boring or misunderstood or too intense or not fun enough in favour of being fully me, in the hopes that we may meet each other as ourselves, that we may see each other fully and not flinch and offer softness to every corner of ourselves.