You’re supposed to be here.

Consider this a cosmic reminder: You're supposed to be here.


Even though some people try to make you think that you shouldn’t be here. Even though some people’s anxious energy makes you think that you’re the anxious one. Even though you’ve never been here before. Even though other people have been here way longer.

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Today I’m giving you this reminder. Consider it a sign if you want. Take it as gospel. Ignore it completely. I’m not here to tell you what to do. I’m just here to say that you’re supposed to be here.

Recently, I received this reminder out of the blue. In fact, when I got that reminder, I actually mistook it as a warning that I wasn’t supposed to be here. A reassuring voice can sound like it’s questioning you when you’ve been telling yourself you don’t belong for a year. It’s kind of funny how a worried brain on edge can do that. But when you’ve felt like an impostor for so long, it’s hard to accept that maybe you’ve been the real deal since day one.

This is all very vague. Or maybe it’s not. I can’t give you a concrete example or all the details of what happened. I wish I could spell it out for you and tell you exactly how it happened — how I realized I was supposed to be here. And I can, but only if we meet up for coffee. This is an in-person story, a story where the details and particulars don’t need to be where everyone and their brother can read them.

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And it’s fair to say that if I consider a story to be an “in-person” story, then perhaps I shouldn’t have blogged it at all. I get that. But I’m a big fan of signs and shooting stars and messages scrawled in tarot cards and tea leaves. I’m sure some of my readers feel the same. And while I can’t trace the lines of your palms over the internet, pretend I am right now.

Pretend I’m looking at your palm, your wrist cradled in my left hand. My right index finger is prodding your lifeline. I look up at you. I stare into your eyes. We both smile. I say, “You’re supposed to be here.” You exhale, but not fully. It takes a minute for it to sink in. You ask me exactly what I’m trying to say.

I drop your hand. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee,” I say. “I need to reassure you that you aren’t crazy.”

7 Responses

    1. I’m so sorry I didn’t reply to this sooner. Apparently wordpress isn’t giving me notifications when someone comments. But, in response to your message…I may be a lot closer in the near future. How’s that for vague?

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