When you take on other characters

You risk losing yourself.

You worry:

Will I adopt their ugliness?

Will I shine too brightly?

I’m used to feeling plain,

So why should I feel



And freedom in my body?

What if I lose control?


What if?

Would that be the end of it all?

Or would it open new realms

Of possibility,

Ways of being,

Of inhabiting the world?

What if you could set your





By throwing caution to the wind,

By turning off your “internal editor,”

By daring to be bigger than your

Own small sphere of existence?


Acting is empathizing

With another’s plight;

It’s taking on their story

And living it fully –

In all its messiness,


And Glory.

We don’t live to be nice

And look nice all the time;

We live for experiences,


And love.

We live for the complexity

That each day holds –

Shouldn’t our characters carry this capacity, too?


To live is to take a risk

Every day of your life

To be better than you were

The day before.

To grow up

And into yourself;

To learn

About yourself and the world;

To deepen

Your connections

And tune into the collective pulse

That breathes life

Into every being

On the planet.

Anne Bonny

The lure of comfort is like a string

Pulling me inside-out.

It exposes my insides,

Making me vulnerable

And susceptible to the harsh winds

Of the outside world.

Every gust knocks me over

And each soft ripple

Brushes against my heart,

Stirring it

Until it dissolves.

I’ve built walls to protect

My insides –

Those squishy, malleable

Organs of life.

They guard me from feeling too deeply –

Until the clever wind

Creeps through the cracks,

And creates a wind tunnel.

Then it all bursts open

And comes pouring out,

And I’m left with the shattered pieces

Of my safe house.

I’m left to pick them up again,

Desperately trying to rebuild

What’s been lost.


But what if I lived

More on edge?

Not quick to anger,

But quick to action –

That same string pulling me forward,

Into life –

A visceral experience

That draws forth the




Part of me.

What if my safe house didn’t need to exist,

Because I felt safe with myself?

What if I felt comfortable enough

In my own body,

That I didn’t need to seek

External sources of comfort?

The lure of comfort

Is what holds me back

From living life to its fullest,

From expressing my full potential.

Comfort tells me to stay complacent,

To deny the possibility

Of a more radiant,


And fantastical experience.

It could be dangerous,

But that rush of wind,

Standing at the edge of the cliff,

Would carry me up and out,

Into the world.

The longing wind inside

Threatens to destroy me,

To keep me wanting

With no real manifestation.

On the edge,

Something is bound to happen.

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