@thesoulful_writer: You still ask for permission to do things the younger you thought you would, by now, be free to do. You may disagree. But I watch how you look around before you order the drink. You know what you want. You have already found it on the menu. Yet you wait, listening to what everyone else will have, until someone asks for the very thing you wanted. Then your face softens. “The same for me,” you say, and close the menu. Perhaps you call that confidence. But what did their order give you that you did not have a moment before? The desire was already yours. So was the money to pay for it. What arrived was permission—the quiet reassurance that your small pleasure would have company, that you would not have to stand alone in wanting it. I wonder how much of your life you live this way. The clothes you leave on the rack until someone tells you they are good for you. The place you would love to visit, if only someone would agree it was worth going. The joy you keep almost choosing, waiting for another person to choose it first. Somewhere, the younger you imagined that growing older would mean an end to all this asking. You would have your own money, your own front door, an evening nobody else could claim. You would finally get to decide. And now you sit at the table, able to pay for everyone’s meal, still waiting for someone to make it all right to order yours. You still ask for permission to live, to be you...really?

The Soulful_Writer

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Monday 21 September 2026 18:24:19 GMT