I envy much about John Brownstone. How unflappable he is when faced with chaos. His ability to sit still. The fact that he can and will take a break if he gets frazzled. The man knows how to relax.
A less understanding version of myself sometimes feels resentment as I pound away at a keyboard, at dreams, and big, hairy-ass goals. But the grown-up version of who I am knows he does it better. He’s not afraid to stop, take a breath, give himself time to think and exist in a moment.
He does things that terrify me, because stopping means I’m not moving forward. It means missed opportunities. Failure. Lack of security.
Okay, it doesn’t mean any of those things, and under his influence over the past several years, I’ve realized the truth.
Maybe I haven’t put relaxation into practice yet, but at least I understand it’s value. He gave that to me.
And also, he gives me this…a naked and relaxed John Brownstone who makes my mouth water, my cunt clench, and my heart flutter. Oh, and the butterflies in my stomach, don’t forget those, fluttering away at the sight of him like this…