Saludos, estamos amigos de Holos Lotus!!
Durante años guardé mi ropa favorita esperando el día perfecto, diciéndome que ya llegaría la ocasión. Pero sin darme cuenta, le estaba enseñando a mi mente que lo bueno era escaso, que tenía que medir cuánto brillaba y cuánto me permitía disfrutar. Hoy me pregunto cuántas veces dejé pasar mi vida esperando, y decidí cambiar. Ahora me miro al espejo y me digo que merezco lo bueno ahora, no después, porque soy yo quien rompe ese ciclo de escasez que yo mismo me impuse.
Ese ciclo empezó mucho antes de que yo tuviera palabras para nombrarlo. Nací en el campo, entre surcos y silencios largos, donde las cosas se medían por lo que costaban conseguir. Allí aprendí que la ropa buena se guardaba para las fiestas, que los zapatos nuevos esperaban a que llegara “una ocasión especial”, que la vida era una sucesión de esperas. Crecí pensando que merecer algo era un permiso que otros debían firmar, y que el disfrute era una recompensa lejana, casi un lujo.
Con los años me hice maestro. Enseñar me devolvió algo que no sabía que había perdido: la certeza de que el conocimiento no se guarda, se comparte. Frente a mis alumnos entendí que las palabras no deben quedarse en el cuaderno esperando el momento perfecto; nacen para ser dichas, para ser escritas, para ser vividas. Sin embargo, esa lección no la apliqué a mi propia vida. Seguía guardando mi ropa favorita, mis sueños, mis ganas.
Después fui asesor literario. Ayudé a otros a pulir sus textos, a confiar en sus voces, a publicar sin miedo. Les decía que ninguna obra era perfecta, que esperar la versión ideal era una forma elegante de no escribir nunca. Y mientras les repetía eso, yo mismo postergaba mis propios proyectos. Publiqué varios libros de narrativa, sí, pero cada uno llegó después de años de freno, de “todavía no”, de “cuando esté listo”. Los libros salieron, pero mi mente seguía atrapada en la escasez.
El sobrepeso me limitó psicológicamente. No fue solo el cuerpo: fue la voz interna que me susurraba que no merecía ciertos colores, ciertos espacios, cierta visibilidad. Aprendí a esconderme en ropa ancha, en silencios cómodos, en la idea de que primero debía cambiar para luego atreverme. Pero ese “luego” nunca llegaba. El espejo se volvió un juez, y yo me convertí en mi propio carcelero.
Hasta que un día, revisando el armario, encontré esa prenda favorita que llevaba años sin usar. Estaba intacta, impecable, esperando un día que nunca llegó. Y entendí que no era la ropa la que esperaba: era yo. Yo era el que se negaba el brillo, se postergaba, creía que lo bueno era para después. Entonces me la puse, sin ocasión, sin permiso, sin esperar a nadie.
Fue un quiebre. Empecé a usar lo que amaba, a escribir sin esperar la obra perfecta, a hablar de mi cuerpo sin pedir disculpas, a habitar mis logros sin minimizarlos. Descubrí que la abundancia no es tener mucho, sino permitirse lo que ya se tiene. Que el día perfecto no existe: se construye con presencia.
Sé que nací en el campo, que fui maestro, que asesoré a otros, que publiqué libros, que luché contra mis propios límites. Y sé, sobre todo, que merezco lo bueno ahora. No cuando adelgace, no cuando termine el próximo proyecto, no cuando alguien me lo autorice.
Ahora.
Porque romper el ciclo de escasez no es un acto de egoísmo, sino de justicia conmigo misma. Y cada vez que me pongo mi ropa favorita un martes cualquiera, le enseño a mi mente que lo bueno no es escaso: es mío, y me pertenece hoy.
🌱 © Contenido Original.
🌱Imágenes de unsplash.
🌱 Versión al inglés con Traductor de Google
🌱 "Today" (ES/EN)
Greetings, we're friends of Holos Lotus!!
For years I kept my favorite clothes waiting for the perfect day, telling myself that the occasion would come. But without realizing it, I was teaching my mind that good things were scarce, that I had to measure how much it shone and how much I allowed myself to enjoy. Today I wonder how many times I let my life pass me by waiting, and I decided to change. Now I look in the mirror and tell myself that I deserve good things now, not later, because I am the one who breaks this cycle of scarcity that I imposed on myself.
That cycle began long before I had the words to name it. I was born in the countryside, among furrows and long silences, where things were measured by how much they cost to acquire. There I learned that good clothes were saved for holidays, that new shoes waited for "a special occasion," that life was a succession of waiting. I grew up thinking that deserving something was a permission that others had to sign, and that enjoyment was a distant reward, almost a luxury.
Over the years, I became a teacher. Teaching gave me back something I didn't know I had lost: the certainty that knowledge isn't kept, it's shared. In front of my students, I understood that words shouldn't stay in a notebook waiting for the perfect moment; they are born to be spoken, to be written, to be lived. However, I didn't apply that lesson to my own life. I kept putting away my favorite clothes, my dreams, my aspirations.
Later, I became a literary consultant. I helped others polish their writing, trust their voices, and publish without fear. I told them that no work was perfect, that waiting for the ideal version was an elegant way of never writing at all. And while I was repeating that to them, I was postponing my own projects. I published several books of fiction, yes, but each one came after years of holding back, of "not yet," of "when I'm ready." The books came out, but my mind remained trapped in scarcity.
Being overweight limited me psychologically. It wasn't just my body: it was the inner voice that whispered to me that I didn't deserve certain colors, certain spaces, a certain level of visibility. I learned to hide in baggy clothes, in comfortable silences, in the idea that I first had to change in order to dare to change. But that "then" never came. The mirror became my judge, and I became my own jailer.
Until one day, going through my closet, I found that favorite garment I hadn't worn in years. It was untouched, immaculate, waiting for a day that never came. And I understood that it wasn't the clothes that were waiting: it was me. I was the one denying myself my own brilliance, putting myself off, believing that good things were for later. So I put it on, without a reason, without permission, without waiting for anyone.
It was a turning point. I started wearing what I loved, writing without expecting the perfect work, talking about my body without apologizing, embracing my achievements without minimizing them. I discovered that abundance isn't about having a lot, but about allowing yourself what you already have. That the perfect day doesn't exist: it's built with presence.
I know I was born in the countryside, that I was a teacher, that I mentored others, that I published books, that I fought against my own limitations. And I know, above all, that I deserve good things now. Not when I lose weight, not when I finish the next project, not when someone gives me permission.
Now.
Because breaking the cycle of scarcity isn't an act of selfishness, but of justice toward myself. And every time I put on my favorite clothes on any given Tuesday, I teach my mind that good things aren't scarce: they're mine, and they belong to me today.
🌱 © Original Content.
🌱Images from Unsplash.
🌱 English version with translator Google
