An ordinary hummingbird

A wise woman was telling me to stop trying to be extraordinary. Why? Because trying to manifest miracles—and fucking BE a miracle—all the time is exhausting.

“Be an ordinary hummingbird.”

A wise woman, who’s known me for years, was telling me to stop trying to be extraordinary. Why? Because trying to manifest miracles—and fucking BE a miracle—all the time is exhausting. It doesn’t work.

Now I can’t get the phrase out of my head.

I’m determined to break through my mental blocks and start writing publicly again. What prevented me in the past? The subconscious belief that since I haven’t posted publicly for years, when I do, every piece of writing—of my soul bared—must be a beautiful, incredible, awe-inspiring hummingbird-in-action.

I’m just a human. Or, as I now prefer to think of myself: An ordinary hummingbird. I’m awesome because I exist and I do what I do.

One of the things I do is write. And I’m so happy to be here again, writing to and with my hummingbird friends! We’re all ordinary and extraordinary. We can read, and write, and create art, and dance, each in our own ordinary ways.

The point isn’t to be extraordinary. It’s to be in the world without shame for not being more.

Simply existing. And letting in all the nourishing thoughts, people, and experiences we can.

This morning I saw this friend outside my window:

I hope you recognize your own ordinary hummingbird-ness in the coming days!

Love,
Margot