If you ever felt embarrassed for loving something, please read this.
When I was a child, as a birthday gift I got a tiny book, golden letters embossed on a shiny black cover. The title said, Sagittarius, it was about my Sun sign, and after two months it had the whole set – cracked spine, folded corners, notes on the margin.
That book was like a grimoire. Somebody understands me!, I thought. Reading it was wondrous, as if the universe was telling me it had sent me out into the world with a bag full of gifts. As if magic existed.
Then, one day, a classmate ridiculed me. Said it was all bullshit. Said it was “girlish.” Said I wasn’t so smart after all, if I believed in all that stuff.
And I stopped. Stopped believing, and let him take my joy away while teaching me that conditions had to be met in order to still be that smart girl, and dismissing the illogical and the irrational from my life was one of them.
Luckily, somebody was wiser than him. (And me.)
Because that somebody – a part of me – waited for me to leave that school, go to university and graduate, waited for my anxiety, waited for me to hit rock bottom and say, fuck everyone, I don’t want to live like this.
And then… a tiny miracle happened.
Somebody bought me that same book.
This time, no one would have taken my joy again. And I learnt this.
Our interest, hobbies and passions don’t make us less smart or strong or valid. But they do make our life more joyous, and that alone makes them worth it.
You are the one living your life. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, as long as it gives you meaning, that’s okay. Go for it.
Your joy is worth it.