I’m turning 44 tomorrow and I made a weird collage that I love.

I also decided to write a thank you letter to myself, and all of her parts, on the last day of my 43rd year.

To my gray hair, you are the beautiful passing of time; a silver song with strings of light that dance on their own - apart from all of the other strands. You stand out. To my arthritic feet and knees, you won’t stop moving. Every day you surprise me with your ability and stamina, with a grace I didn’t even know you were capable of. To my skin, scars and stretch marks, you have a great story and you’re also not your story.

Thank you. Thank you to my heart, which cannot be seen in this weird collage. You have carried me, especially over the last two years. My smile is a reflection of you. To my gray hair, you are the beautiful passing of time; a silver song with strings of light that dance on their own - apart from all of the other strands. You stand out. To my arthritic feet and knees, you won’t stop moving. Every day you surprise me with your ability and stamina, with a grace I didn’t even know you were capable of. To my skin, scars and stretch marks, you have a great story and you’re also not your story. I want you to remember that. We have a new story and your thighs simply touch because they love each other - and if that’s not romantic, I don’t know what is.

We have these parts, we’re made of so many parts that we spend our lives - especially as women - hiding or wishing they were different. I’m by no means in a state of not being self conscious about you - about my body. We’ve struggled for a long time. But I do appreciate, respect and love what I see in the mirror. I see flaws that are mine to honor, which actually makes them perfect. Because I no longer see these parts separately or critically. I see someone who is the sum of parts unseen and felt. My sight has changed, my eyes bigger and more clear than ever before.

[…] but at the end of the day, at the end of the year, at the end of many years, at the end of our lives - it’s all temporary. Year after year, the pieces all become one and nothing is distinct any longer because, if we allow for it, our bodies, life, time and stories collide to create our perfect selves.

We use our bodies as a vehicle and means for expression - movement, sex, hugs, to carry objects and ourselves - but at the end of the day, at the end of the year, at the end of many years, at the end of our lives - it’s all temporary. Year after year, the pieces all become one and nothing is distinct any longer because, if we allow for it, our bodies, life, time and stories collide to create our perfect selves.

But we have to want to see it. To feel it.

Thank you to my mind, which also cannot be seen, but who guides me daily in the practices of reading, writing and making my life into my greatest work of art. For her I am most thankful. I will continue to nurture her the most because she is my most precious gift. For my grandmother and my father who have lost parts of their mind, I sit in a place of deep appreciation for all that I have. I will work to maintain this beautifully perfect mind for as long as I can. For my brother who cannot walk or move like I do, I move with him in mind every single day. There is no distance too far to walk or a reason to stay in bed. I rise.

Thank you to all of the parts that brought me here today.

To everyone that I love - feeling this way wouldn’t be possible without any of it or you.

Thank You To All of My Parts