I don’t remember the exact year, but I think it must have been about seven years
ago. I was saying goodbye to my therapist friend. “I’m rushing,” I told her, “I
have so much to do, and I need to eat something quickly.” “Pay more attention to
yourself,” she said. “Also to what you eat, and whatever you do—whether eating,
drinking, reading, doing yoga, working, etc.—treat yourself kindly and with
care.” Right then and there, I resolved to follow her advice. I began practicing
this gentle self-care with something as ordinary as the lunch I just mentioned.
Since then, I believe I have elevated the love and attentiveness I bring to my
relationship with myself to a high level. As I started engaging in internal
dialogues in which I spoke kindly and treated myself well, my whole relationship
with myself transformed: it became more refined, more valuable, and more
important to me. I was astonished at how different, how rich a life I was able
to create entirely on my own, based on a simple decision and without any
external help. How personal responsibility begins with simple, easily achievable
actions, and how it cultivates itself in the process.
Because this is how improving our lives begins: we don’t wait for outside help
(which is unnecessary—no one has the key to our inner world, our thoughts, or
our feelings). Instead, we do what we ourselves are capable of doing. For
example, we start by noticing when we’re hungry and choosing not to eat whatever
happens to be within reach, but instead asking ourselves: What would you like,
dear? What do you desire? To avoid misunderstandings, let me clarify: the point
of this question isn’t to answer, “I want a three-course meal from a
Michelin-starred restaurant, with a gift on the side.” The point is to approach
ourselves with love, not harshly or cruelly, but kindly. To express that we are
important, that our needs are important, and that those needs deserve to be met.
Once we take this first step, all we need to do is continue, and as much as
possible, approach ourselves with this kindness and compassion in every moment
of life. Over time, this practice will also help us stop irritating ourselves
over small things. At first, there may still be occasional swearing or
impatience toward ourselves, but if every day we make the effort to give
ourselves as much love as possible, in moments when we have to choose between
stress and inner peace, we will reliably choose self-love—simply because it
feels good and smooths our hearts. And with this small change, things begin to
shift, and miracles start to happen in our lives. The miracle’s name: As within,
so without. The way we treat ourselves is the way others will treat us. The
principle is remarkably logical: if someone calls themselves an idiot, unworthy,
ugly, or foolish, it is entirely reasonable that the outside world will see them
that way too. The two are always in harmony; it cannot exist that someone
possesses genuine, internally nourished self-esteem while the world reflects the
opposite. (A side note: there is no such thing as “too much” self-confidence;
what is often called that is simply compensation. Confidence either exists or it
doesn’t.) Those who are in love with themselves are avoided by people who hate
themselves (and therefore hate others as well), because such people don’t know
how to deal with them—or with the “energy field” that love radiates around the
person. I believe everyone has experienced this phenomenon: meeting someone the
world dared not challenge. Not because they were strong or frightening, but
because an undeniable force radiated from them, one that could not be argued
with. This force was nourished by trust in oneself, faith, love, and a
commitment to the good.
Agatha Seymour
/This piece was written years ago. As I return, it finds its place here once again, unchanged./
When All Seems Lost — and Even When It Doesn’t… As a writer, I read more than average. Not necessarily books that fall within my immediate interests, but rather those I can learn from, marvel at, analyze word by word, and sometimes even those that demand more effort from me than usual. That is how it is with Alice Munro. I bought my first book by her when she received the Nobel Prize. Then life happened, and the volume sat on my bookshelf—either I had no time for it, or it lingered somewhere at the bottom of my list of priorities. When I finally picked it up, I could hardly believe my eyes—or my reaction. First, I was utterly outraged; my blood pressure shot through the roof in an instant, and I almost started swearing in disbelief. I had barely skimmed the first few lines, yet that was enough to know: it was perfect. A true masterpiece. Excellence among the excellent. Every word reached the deepest layers of my soul. I was touched by its purity, its delicacy, the noblest simpli...

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