Belong

"You belong" I whisper to my daughter as she sits, studying the world.

You belong here and now,
And there tomorrow,
And wherever you will be in the days after that.

The air you breathe belongs to you,
And when you exhale you give it back to the world.

You belong in the space you take up.
You do not need to puff up,
Or shrink yourself down.

You belong with your voice.
No need to tear others down,
Or allow yourself to be trampled.

You belong as the size you are.
No smaller, no bigger, just right.
Each moment of each day.

The paths you are on are yours to walk,
Where others have gone,
And will go.

You belong on your own,
And connected to others.
You belong wandering alone,
And here, next to me.

Each moment you exist,
You are not lost.

You belong.
You belong.

Dreams

My parents are not in the business of killing dreams.

When I was in fourth grade, I decided I wanted to be a stage actress. A dream that lasted far longer than most, all the way into my first year of college. My parents went to my plays, helped me film auditions, helped me apply to colleges, and helped me transfer colleges. All the while allowing me to decide I wanted to be a stage actress.

I would like to point out that my parents are not the dreamy type. While they have goals and aspirations and plans, they are usually logical and attainable. I as their daughter, have a new dream every week.

Last month I was going to open a cafe. Josh was going to do the drinks, I was going to cook something, and I was going to commission various family members to help us out. My parents and I sent back and forth some emails about my new cafe and talked about it on skype.

This month I decided what we really need to do is have a small farm. Chickens, sheep, a garden. We could be farmers. I could bake bread. My daughter could roam the land and grow up learning how to grow things. It still sounds lovely, but ask me next month and I'll have moved on. Instead of reminding me that I don't really like animals, have no knowledge of growing anything, and don't even really like dirt, my parents looked at the pictures of the farm we were going to buy and talked about mowing.

Together we have re-imagined my bathroom several times, talked about living in: Thailand, Australia, Taiwan, and Iceland, and discussed the life of being a writer. Part of this I'm sure is because they know I am just dreaming. I'm not going to start a cafe and short of winning the lottery we will never buy a farm, but that's not the only reason they support me. They also support me when my dreams mean flying to Kyrgyzstan by myself at 17, living in South Carolina even though I didn't know anyone, moving to California without a real plan, starting a grad school degree, getting married, moving, moving, moving, starting a family...

I could go on.

My parents are not in the business of killing dreams. They are in the business for letting me talk out any and all dreams. They are in the business of supporting me. And most of all, they are in the business of believing in me. And my dreams.