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Hello.

Welcome to The Feminist Vegan, where I write about wellness, mental health, and personal growth, all through the lens of social justice.

November 25, 2017

November 25, 2017

Today, there are three of me. Three selves, three different people, three collections of matter and stardust. Each of us racing toward her fate. 

We three live in our own worlds.

There is one in Guatemala. She is climbing a volcano and roasting marshmallows over the ancient heat. She is going to a wedding tomorrow and it is not hers but one like it could be someday soon. She has a plan. She is going around the world and then she is coming home and then she is moving a man into her home and then she is making him her home. She is stability and solace and strength. She will let you rest your head on her chest even if it kills her. She wills and the world bends to her even if not entirely. Even if the fit is just a little painful. Even if she is not absolutely yours.

Another is in Barcelona. She is meeting a lover and finding what lives between them. She is going to an apartment tomorrow and it is not hers but one like it could be someday soon. She has a plan. She is drinking coffee on the balcony and then she is walking through beautiful streets and then she is holding a man’s hand and then she is making him her everything. She is adventure and anchor and anticipation. She will love you even if it kills her. She wills and the world bends to her even if not entirely. Even if your love is just a little smaller. Even if you are not absolutely hers.

Then there is me. I am here, in California. I am lying in bed and striking a match. I am going nowhere tomorrow and it does not matter because I swam in the ocean today. I do not have a plan. I am writing and running and wringing myself clean and then I am getting on a plane but it is not like the others. I am going to no one but myself. I am sun-tired and wild and a fucking mess. I won’t let anything kill me, even if just a little. I do not try to bend the world because I know better even if not entirely. Even if I wish I didn’t know better. Even if I am not absolutely my own, yet.

I am lighting three candles, one for each of my selves. I am turning off the calendar notifications on my phone because they belong to the other women. November 25th belongs to my shadow selves. I am letting the match burn to illuminate them. I am letting the match die and them along with it. I am grieving. They are gone. The three flames remain.

November 25, 2017 is theirs. But today is mine. Forever.

I’ll never know, and neither will you of the life you don’t choose. We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us. There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore.
— Cheryl Strayed
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