In a town of people who don’t wear shoes, I said a wish for you.

Shortly after my 30th birthday I went to Ojai, California for the first time.

It’s the kind of place that attracts people who don’t wear shoes (like, ever). And the succulents… oh, the succulents.

I was in town to attend a retreat with the magnificent Heidi Rose Robbins, a gifted teacher, astrologer and gentle soul.

On our final night together, I told the other women there what I wished for them. I found the crumpled piece of paper I wrote those words on this morning and realized that I wasn’t thinking of just them when I wrote it.

I was thinking of you too. So here, this is yours:
 

What I wish for myself, I also wish for you.
So let me tell you my wishes:

I wish that you would stop apologizing.
For your physical presence, for your tears, for how much you love to cuss. I wish that you would stop apologizing for being… you.

I wish that you would tell them what you want.
Tell the men. Tell the women. Tell the children, and strangers too, precisely-exactly-specifically what you want. I wish that you would tell them your ideal.

I wish that you would let it go.
I wish that when a person, or a job, or a house, or a piece of clothing or even the flavor of your toothpaste no longer fits, no longer feels good, that you would let it go. I wish that you would allow that season to end, so that another one can begin.

I wish that you would believe this:
You can change the story of your life at any time. You do not have to stay small just because that’s what you’ve always (or mostly) done. You can change your mind. You can say No to the person or situation you’ve been believing you have to say Yes to. You can reframe your past. You can change the story of your life.

That’s what I wish for you.
 
 
If you could cast a wish for every person on the planet right now, what would it be?

xo
Annika