Into The Blue

It was one of those days where my BF and I weren’t on good terms. We weren’t in a talking mood, so I decided to take the dogs for a walk along the rocky shore. When I left through the back, he was sitting on the couch on his phone, reading something. Since we weren’t speaking, it felt like the perfect time to be by myself—to think, to reflect, to wonder: How the hell did we even get here?

No couple is perfect. We all have our stuff. But communication is what gives a relationship a soft place to land.

The ocean has this way of humbling you. It’s beautiful, yeah, but it also strips everything bare. It forces you to see things you’d rather not deal with. As the wind shifts to the northeast, I breathe in the salty air. My body softens. My mind is still. I sit, watching the waves crash, the birds fight over God-knows-what, and for the first time in days, I feel lighter.

I’ve always felt connected to water. The closer I am, the stronger my intuition gets. Don’t ask me how it works—I just know it does.

And if you’ve ever gotten a random text or call from me saying, 'This is going to sound weird, but...'—yeah, this is why. Chances are, I was washing dishes, in the shower, or went for a swim when an intuitive message for you just came through. I never know if I should send it or just sit on it, because, you know… don’t want to sound insane. But if I do send it, just know—I was probably mid-shampoo or elbow-deep in dish soap when the universe decided to make me its messenger.

But I digress.

So, I take a deep breath, ask my intuition for a message, and just like that, the waves offer up some cryptic wisdom:

"Love yourself."

"Let me show you."

Oh great. More riddles. Love that for me.

And honestly? I feel a little exposed. Because truthfully, I like myself, sure. But love myself? Hmm…ask me again in six months.

Pre-pandemic, I saw this homeopath once. An intuitive homeopath? A healer? Honestly, I don’t even know what his exact title was. All I knew was that he was the guy to see in Lima if you were into this kind of thing.

I went in blind, not knowing what I was getting myself into (what’s new?). But he was incredible. And an appointment had already been arranged for me.

Anyway, I remember him telling me that what I really needed wasn’t material things, or a plethora of remedies—it was hugs... and perhaps one remedy he was going to make me for “support.”

When I retell this story to friends, it’s funny, because I like to make serious things funny. Coping mechanism? Sure, lets call it that. But now, years later, I can’t even deny it. My self-love journey has nothing to do with material things.

Okay—except maybe a trip to the salon to get a haircut, a fresh colour… or hell, both! Because when you’re going through it, trust me. Nothing feels better than getting your hair did after a shitstorm.

Turns out, according to science, or whatever, self-love isn’t always about the big, obvious things. Sometimes, it’s as simple as a fresh cut or colour when you’re feeling lost. Other times, it sneaks up on you in ways you never expected.

But I’m learning. Slowly. And not in the ways people always talk about. Not through affirmations or face masks or bubble baths. No, I’m learning to love myself in ways I never expected.

Like right now—while rebranding, realizing, hey, I’m actually capable of figuring a lot of this out on my own. I don’t always need help. I don’t need to hire someone to do every little thing. Or noticing that, yeah, I’m actually smart. Or recognizing that, okay, COVID hit a bunch of us hard, and I might not look the way I once did, but I have someone who loves me for me.

And I never thought I’d ever say that. 

Loving yourself is weird. No one teaches you how to do it in a way that actually makes sense. They tell you to be confident, to stand tall, to stop caring what other people think. But what they don’t say is that self-love sneaks up on you in the strangest ways. In the moments where you realize, Oh, I handled that on my own. Or, I don’t need external validation for this. Or even, I may not love everything about myself, but I respect how far I’ve come.

As I walk back toward the house, I spot something in the sand—a rock the size of my hand with a large lilac-purple center, and beside it, a smaller one. They catch my eye—odd, beautiful, like they were placed there just for me. Or maybe not. Either way, I pick them up because, I don’t know, they feel important.

And then, as I get closer to the house, I see my BF—doing the exact same thing I was doing. Sitting on the rocks, looking out into the ocean.

I knew that dude was thinking the same shit I was thinking. But I let him have his time.

I just kept walking up toward the house, letting the dogs run their little hearts out.

Later, we hashed it out.

Because that’s what you do. You sit with the truth. You feel it. And then, you decide if there’s a way forward—or if it’s time to let go.

Some things—whether it’s an argument, an old version of yourself, or a story you’ve been telling yourself for years—are better left behind. And some things—like intuition, connection, and the small signs the universe leaves for you—are always worth picking up.

Like those lilac-purple rocks. Maybe they’re nothing. Or maybe they’re proof that when we slow down and actually listen, the answers are already waiting for us.

Either way, moments like these remind me that meaning is everywhere—you just have to be willing to see it.

Stay inspired,

Ale