There are days when I am unable to summon my willpower, regardless of how much my brain knows I need it. And there are days when I can feel strength coursing through me, as if it were a current in my veins, days when courage comes effortlessly, and power vibrates in my voice.
Some days, I am a mouse, shrinking into the shadows, hiding there from sight. And others, I am an oak in a gale: allowing my limbs to shake, my trunk to bend, but I remain grounded firmly.
Some days, just as I awake, I am aware of a heaviness in my heart, and some days sadness hangs over my shoulders everywhere I go. But on others, I open my arms to the sky and I want shout at the top of my lungs for joy— and some days, I do!
There are days when what I say comes out crisp, clear, pointed. And others, when my feelings and my thoughts tangle in a cluster of knots, and when I try to speak, my words are muddled, or simply fail me.
There are days when, if you know me, you would know exactly what I am about to do, where I would go, or what I would say. And there are also days when I am completely unpredictable, even to myself; when my intuition guides me down unmarked paths.
Today, I embrace the mystery of me, with all of my ambiguities, my paradoxes and contradictions. I celebrate the whole.