On My Own Terms

I am most alive when I live with a full heart, and even more so when I see another soul living freely before my eyes.
In these times, simply living well—truly well—is no small victory.

Whoever can live with an open heart without heeding another's voice, that one is an artist.
I don't believe in bending to rules laid down by others,
nor in forcing my convictions upon anyone else—
besides, who has that kind of time?
A cup of black coffee, sweet with honey, made by my own hands on an ordinary morning—that is my measure of success.
To live out my days without hearing "But no one does such things!"—that, to me, is life itself.

What brings me joy, that is what matters.
That is why I am so very happy.
I can laugh at the smallest things, cry whenever my heart demands it.
In those moments of tears, I needn't wonder what others think of me.
To weep openly, without apology—learning that is itself a great and radical thing,
though respectable society calls it by another name: shame.

My name was struck from that respectable society's ledger long ago!
And I care not one whit.
My ledger holds only my name, my harvest of happiness, my stories of joy, my songs of simply being alive.

Listen, you architects of society's rules and proprieties—show me if you can, just once, how to live by your own desires.
I dare you to try.
You cannot.