Permission.

We spend our childhoods being denied permission: “Don’t touch!” “Don’t do that!” “Don’t go there!” “Stop!” Don’t, don’t don’t. We’re born curious, little explorers equipped with exactly what we need to learn about the world around us – a world often deemed too dangerous for our curiosity. We’re denied permission for our own protection.

In theory.

But we’re often denied permission for societal norms (“Don’t run inside!” “Don’t talk so loudly!”) and for politeness (“Don’t sing at the table!” “Don’t tell her you don’t like her gift!”) and to avoid embarrassment (“Don’t pick your nose!” “Don’t play with yourself!”). We’re denied permission to explore our own bodies, we’re denied permission to color outside the lines, we’re denied permission to be open and honest.

Is it any wonder, then, that so many of us are so desperate for permission?

A lot of self-work boils down to getting permission to be yourself, getting permission to do what your heart tells you to do. We need someone else to do it first, to say it’s okay, to set an example we can point at or follow.

We need permission.

Well, guess what?

Permission granted.

If you’re waiting for someone to give you permission, I give you permission.

I give you permission to write utter garbage.

I give you permission to sing at the table, as loudly as you like.

I give you permission to quit your job.

I give you permission to stay at your job.

I give you permission to color outside the lines, to make the picture beautiful in your own eyes.

I give you permission to explore your own body.

I give you permission to explore your own world.

I give you permission to do what you most want to do.

I give you permission to avoid annoying relatives over the impending holidays.

I give you permission to be open and honest – with yourself, and with others.

I give you permission to love whomever you love.

I give you permission to love yourself.

I give you permission to be yourself, to follow your heart.

What are you waiting for?

Permission granted.