If there was ever a person who knew how to love themselves,
it was Walt. He even wrote a poem about it. He called it, “A song to myself”.
It was unapologetic and ravishing.
It was a physical and emotional celebration and ode to the sublime.
To the miracle that was him.
He was so in love with his own miracle self, he was compelled
to tell the world about it (at his expense).
This wasn’t ego.
This wasn’t vanity.
It was surrender.
5:6:7 ∞
