On More.

There was one point in my life when 'more' mattered. I wanted more money, more experiences checked off a my list, more projects in the works, more outfits in my closets.... more, more, and more of more. I thought that more was better. In my youth, I struggled with food and believed the more fresh baked cookies I could pile on top of my emotions would mean the more comforted I would feel. In my teens, I turned to material goods and thought more expensive handbags would result in a heightened experience and a cooler, more confident self. In my college years, I thought more partying, more distraction, and the more pounds I could drop, would equate to more happiness. And recently in my twenties, I thought the more I could accomplish in my day to day, the more fulfilled and powerful I would find myself. I thought that if I could accomplish more that I could on some level be able to value myself more. I have always thought more was the way. Wow, was I wrong.

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