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live your lessons.

you’ll live your lessons until they kill you. but you have to be brave enough to let the old you die. you know, the one who believes she has to perform miracles, like making blind men see or bestowing hearing upon the deaf, not understanding she is already the miracle.

even so, there is nothing she can do to pry their eyes open. they cannot hear her because they are not listening. but she is the one still trying to pay her way and make herself useful to service what feels like the crushing debt of her own existence; she can’t understand that her ticket is already paid. she belongs on this train, just like everyone else. and just like everyone else, she is allowed to sit down. to quit living this life as an apology, with service as her contrition.

that’s why she’s dying. and if you don’t let her go, if you cannot put her to rest, your soul will drag her tired corpse around until life becomes a horrorshow.

every morning, she’ll jump out of that deathbed, pray to God, repeat her affirmations, find the will, and dig into her own flesh for a vein she can empty into work, family and everyone she loves. there aren’t even very many left. and the problem is that her lifeblood is your lifeblood, too. the crises and assignments don’t end, but life as an unpaid intern is becoming too expensive. it’s costing your peace and you’re almost too tired to be proud. that’s why you have to let her be done. she is you. you are both out of gas, this is the wrong road, and now you know better.

just have the funeral. it doesn’t matter if no one attends.