She’s tempted to say no.
To ask for a do-over.
To draw another card from the stack.
But she’s learning,
after half a lifetime’s turns around the sun,
that the real juice comes from saying yes.
From locking horns with discomfort,
rather than running away.
Easy does not equal good,
or satisfying.
So she doesn’t say no,
doesn’t retreat.
Instead she locks eyes,
fixes her gaze, and says,
“Lay it on me.”
[scs_alt]
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