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Between the Magic and the Musts

Some days, I feel like I’m doing everything wrong.

Like I’m trying to live two lives at once—one that pulses with fire, hunger, touch, movement… and another that needs me to answer emails, remember tax deadlines, and have clean socks in the drawer.Still, the musts don’t wait. The groceries, the bills, the dentist appointment I forgot to cancel for the second time. The people who love me and just want to know I’m okay—who ask “Are you sleeping enough?” and “When was the last time you took a break?” and I want to say this is the break.

Our lifestyle—my lifestyle—wasn’t built to play nice with calendars and alarms and “normal” expectations. It thrives in late nights, unsent drafts, half-packed bags, and kisses stolen in stairwells. It’s raw and real and holy in its own way. But it sure as hell doesn’t leave much room for routine.This is the life I chose. But damn, it’s exhausting sometimes.

I keep trying to make it all fit—the art, the intimacy, the quiet inner world, the outer obligations. Trying to be soft and sharp, grounded and free. I romanticize chaos, I know that. But I also cry over spreadsheets. I skip lunch. I snap at people I love because I’m stretched too thin and can’t figure out how to stop pouring.

But even on the worst days—even when I feel like a walking contradiction—I’d still choose this. Every time. I’d choose messy passion over quiet comfort. I’d choose the complications of loving hard and living wide, over playing small.

I just wish I didn’t have to choose so often. Tomorrow I’ll try again.