My all.

When you give your all—you sweat, you work, you drive hard, you silence that shrill, scared voice of “No more, I can’t!”  You get dirty; you find yourself covered in the dust of effort.

When you give your all—

You hurt, you groan, you fracture, and then you break.  The everything of you explodes, and scatters, in ashes, everywhere.

When you give your all—you exude confidence, bravery, strength, assurance and steadiness in tone, manner, point, and purpose of self.  Because you are you, in totality, awesome, without apology.

When you give your all—you willingly accept vulnerability, because you are so resolute in your belief that, no matter the chill from all that nakedness, you will be okay.  You believe this so fully, in fact, that even as you shiver, even as you stand tall within the wide, frightening openness of honesty, you know, no matter the outcome, that soon enough, you will peel yourself raw all over again.

When you give your all—

You dive—you want to dive deep, you want to explore, you want no inch uncovered, you want to get lost, and you want everything to surprise and humble you, because this is it:  this is reality, and you are standing squarely within it, open-armed, ready, and those relentless, pounding waves of recourse are held at bay by the power of the present, by this heft of this one moment.

When you give your all—you gain much more than you lose.

When you give your all—

You are so caught up in the excitement of what may come from your efforts, your good intentions, your faith in that one person and in all the possibility, that you forget how fast and how far you will fall when your expectations, your wants, your hopes, provide no firm ground—when you find yourself plummeting and realizing there is no cushion beneath you to brace the landing, because you left it, up there, with everything else.

And you leap anyway.

When you give your all—you rinse clean.  You feel entirely, thrillingly separate from the you before.

When you give your all, you know, at day’s end:  I presented myself honestly, authentically.  I was true.  I did not waver in my convictions.   And that is, really, all that matters.

When you give your all—

The all of you goes.

You empty.

I must believe that is because you are now able to fill yourself with the good that comes back and is worth keeping and with the unexpected and beautiful new that you now have room to embrace, to store, to pack back into the foundation of self and heart (which, exhausted and weakened from exertion, need some restructuring attention).

Because after the all, I can say, with absolute certainty:

“I held none of me back.  I acted with the brave trueness of my heart.  I did my best.  I left every last piece on the floor, on the table, in your mouth, in your god damn lap, in the tight, sad cling of your embrace.  I gave everything.  There’s nothing left.”

And I’m proud.

Because these efforts are all mine.

I may be empty, but everything in me knows:  I will fix and fill myself again with my own, good, honest doing.

4 responses to “My all.

  1. This was exactly what I needed to read today. Thank you for writing it.

  2. well, i guess that about says it all.

  3. Whoa this is powerful and awesome! Thanks for writing.

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