For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m not running. I’m standing with my face to the sun. On days when the sun doesn’t shine, I stand toe to toe with my fears. I question my attachments because what got me here won’t get me where I want to go.

Laying on the beach. Solo. The wind’s blowing wild, the birds are singing and the waves are crushing my insecurities. My toe’s fucked up, but the X-ray said it’s not broken so I sip my nasty beer and eat my delicious ham sammich. I wiggle my toes a little bit to make sure this moment of solitude and serenity is real. The twinge of pain that shoots up my foot confirms, shit’s real.

The sandwich is done. I’m in a bikini that fits better now than it did in 2013 when I bought it, but I still have belly to rub. I’m rubbin my belly, fantasizing about the life I’m creating and tossing around the revelation that I’m not running from anything. Instead, I took a beach day for myself because it’s what I wanted. I made it a solo day because I only wanted to be with me. Not because life is too heavy or because I’m scared to face reality, but because I wanted to enjoy a moment with my star player.

Smiling at the water. Salt on my lips.

I’m flowing to my purpose. I’m in alignment. I’m divinely positioned and it’s all making sense now. It’s me, myself and I against any issues and it’s not aggression, but a search for understanding that shapes my perception. Watermelon juice dripping off my chin. Ice cold Capri Sun quenching my thirst. Rubbing my fat ass belly on the beach.

I’m divinely positioned and I’m feeling just fine.