The accent.
The neighborhood.
The elders.
The songs.
The faith.
The grit.
The way we survived.

But healing isn’t about waging war on the very ground that held us up when nothing else did.

Survival was not a flaw.
Survival was a blessing.
Survival was wisdom gathered under pressure.

The work now is different:

• We keep what is strong.

• We set down what is harmful.

• We learn new ways without shaming the old ones.

Because while we’re busy rejecting our foundation, there are always others quietly studying it, borrowing from it, profiting from it — and praising themselves for “discovering” what our grandmothers already knew.

You deserve to grow without erasing yourself.

You deserve to rise without apologizing for your roots.

You deserve to heal without rewriting your story as shame.

Your history is not your enemy.
Your history is the soil.

And soil can be enriched, tended, watered — not destroyed.

Affirmations

• I honor the people and places that carried me this far.

• I bless what helped me survive and release what no longer serves me.

• My roots are not a burden — they are strength, memory, and guidance.

• I build forward with gratitude, clarity, and confidence.

<p>The post Artist Jossie Harris Thacker: Building On Where You Come From — Without Going To War With It first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

Now all those years watching Soul Train and I did not make this connection when MC Hammer, who I am a huge fan of, came out. Watch Tamechi make the connection around the 13 minute mark. You realize that you saw the amazing outfits on Soul Train. You saw the iconic looks on Hammer. And you never made the connection.

Where are these man’s awards? Is he in the Fashion Hall of Fame? Because THIS look was one of THE top iconic looks of that time and he created it. One of my relatives even wore an ensemble that my grandmother made that took a bit of inspiration from this look when she sang in the school talent show.

An unsung fashion LEGEND.

Sidebar….how is MTV pretending to be at a loss for content with all this unsung history running around?

Tamechi Toney-Briggs credited in multiple interviews and retrospectives as the designer who created the look we now call MC Hammer pants — long before they became mainstream. He was styling, innovating, experimenting, and shaping silhouettes in ways that were bold, theatrical, and deeply rooted in Black performance culture.

And here’s the part people forget:

Soul Train wasn’t just dancers.

It was:

• stylists

• hair artists

• makeup visionaries

• seamstresses and designers

• culture-makers behind the scenes

Black LGB artists were right there — dreaming, sewing, styling, choreographing, shaping.

Like too many of their peers from this time, they rarely got credit.
But they helped build the look.
They helped build the vibe.
They helped build the boldness.

And yes — many of them were unsung.

Soul Train was a sanctuary of creativity

For so many gay Black men Soul Train was one of the few spaces where:

• flamboyance wasn’t punished

• confidence wasn’t mocked

• style could be extra and still celebrated

• movement could be fluid, expressive, free

What the world later called “fashion trends” or “new style” often came straight from them.

Hammer pants.
Slouch socks.
Dramatic jackets.
Hair sculpting.
Accessories that made the outfit come alive.

They were remixing fashion the way DJs remix sound.

And they did it while navigating:

• homophobia

• racism

• class barriers

• being told their gifts “didn’t matter”

• the government ignoring, dismissing, and minimizing their health concerns and dying friends and family (I have gay and bisexual family that I pray is resting in peace)

That’s courage.

This is why remembering matters

When we leave gay and lesbian Black artists out of the story,
we flatten culture into something safe and sanitized.

But the truth is:

Black culture has always included queer brilliance.
Black style has always included queer innovation.
Black performance has always been shaped by LGB creativity.

And yes — many of those innovators came through Soul Train.

They deserve their flowers.

Not later.
Not after another documentary.
Now.

The bigger message

When you see someone dismissed because people think:

“that’s just fashion”
“that’s just dance”
“that’s just personality”

remember:

Visionaries rarely look “important” in the moment.

But their fingerprints end up on everything.

Just like Tamechi Toney-Briggs.
Just like those Soul Train stylists and dancers.
Just like the LGB creatives who lifted entire eras of music and style — and didn’t get named.

Your gifts may not always be recognized right away either.

Still — create.
Still — innovate.
Still — shine.

Because legacy has a way of surfacing truth over time.

**As you watch this video, do you not love how he kept evolving and doing what was right for him?

<p>The post Soul Train Dancer Tamechi Toney Briggs Influenced A Generation & Created Infamous MC Hammer Pants first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

They were artists.

People sometimes talk about Soul Train like it was simply a place to party.

But look closer.

Those dancers were:

• choreographers

• stylists

• storytellers

• physical poets

• visual creators

They shaped the camera.
They shaped the music.
They shaped the entire feeling of an era.

Every spin.
Every glide.
Every pop of the shoulder or flick of the wrist…

It was intentional.

It was art.

They weren’t paid like celebrities.
They didn’t get long contracts or big honors.

Yet they stepped out on that line like the world was watching — because it was —
and they delivered.

That takes courage.
That takes vision.
That takes self-belief.

And the culture followed them.

Enter Vivica A. Fox: A master class in showing up

When you look at Vivica Fox’s career, you see the exact same spirit.

From small roles to starring roles,
from comedy to drama,
from action to talk shows —

If the camera was on, she was on.

No halfway.
No dimming herself.
No apologizing for presence.

Vivica isn’t simply “working.”

She performs.
She commands space.
She brings respect to whatever room she steps into.

That is the Soul Train lineage:

📌 Wherever you place me — I will rise, I will shine, I will give you excellence.

Not because it’s easy.

But because honoring your gift matters.

A message for Survivors

There are times in life when trauma, shame, or other people’s opinions try to convince you to shrink.

To stay quiet.
To stay small.
To fade into the wall.

But Soul Train dancers didn’t hide.

Vivica Fox didn’t hide.

They didn’t wait for perfect conditions.
They didn’t wait for everyone to applaud.

They said:

“If I’m here — I’m going to show up in my fullness.”

And that’s the message:

Never miss your opportunity to show up and show out.

Not loud for attention.
Not to prove anything.

But because:

• your creativity deserves air

• your joy deserves room

• your presence deserves to take up space

You do not need permission to shine.

You simply need to honor the light that’s already inside you.

Your life is your stage — and you are worthy of standing in the center

When you walk into a room,
when you speak truth,
when you create something beautiful,
when you laugh out loud,
when you choose healing —

That is art.

That is courage.

That is legacy.

Let the world say what it wants.

Like those Soul Train dancers.
Like Vivica A. Fox.

Show up.

Show out.

And trust that your brilliance belongs here.

<p>The post Vivica A. Fox: A master class in showing up and showing out from her days on Soul Train first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

 I was in front of my television nearly every Saturday morning and pouted when I couldn’t be. Because why do Saturday morning errands have to run over and make me miss Soul Train?

Then at some point, my local television station would run that day’s episode back late at night or maybe late Sunday afternoon if you were lucky.

I wasn’t alone. People across various races, ethnicities, and ages were doing the same thing even if we didn’t talk about it together.

So, let’s talk about Soul Train — not as nostalgia, but as legacy, genius, and cultural leadership. Because those dancers were not just “having fun on television.”
They were innovators. Stylists. Athletes. Choreographers. Cultural architects.

And they made it look effortless — which is exactly why too many people underestimated the brilliance.

Soul Train: Where movement became language

Week after week, Black dancers brought their full selves to that stage:

• rhythm layered on rhythm
• footwork that defied gravity
• style that felt like freedom
• personality that spoke louder than words

They didn’t wait for permission.
They didn’t ask for validation.

They shaped:

fashion (we tried to wear the clothes that they wore)

music trends

hair styles 

how we move at weddings, clubs, cookouts, and celebrations even today 

Artists came on Soul Train hoping to be accepted by the dancers — because if the dancers loved your sound, the culture followed.

That’s power.

And yet — like so much Black brilliance — it was often framed as “fun,” “natural,” “just dancing.”

No.

It was training without trainers.
Choreography without credit.
Discipline without applause.

They paid their own way.
They practiced for hours.
They created moves that later got copied, monetized, and studied — while many of their names were left out of history.

They were leaders.

When excellence looks “easy,” people forget the work

This is where it connects back to you.

When you carry something with grace —
when you move with skill —
when your voice, presence, creativity, or wisdom flows…

People can dismiss it.

“Of course she can do that.”
“That’s just natural.”
“That’s not a real skill.”

They get comfortable with your labor.
They get used to your brilliance.

And suddenly:

• your gifts become “expected”
• your genius becomes “ordinary”
• your effort disappears behind the shine

But what Soul Train shows us is this:

Just because something is done beautifully does NOT mean it was easy.

Just because you make it look smooth does not mean it did not cost time, strength, courage, and soul.

The dancers were unsung — but not unseen

In the years to come, we cannot allow their legacy to be minimized for anyone’s comfort.

We will not:

• let their artistry be written off as “cute”
• pretend they weren’t pioneers
• ignore how they expanded culture, joy, and possibility

They deserve the same respect given to classical dancers, choreographers, and performance artists — because they were all of that.

They owned the floor.
They owned their bodies.
They owned their creativity.

And they built a path many others are still walking.

And you — your gifts deserve that same honor

Whatever your gift is:

• storytelling
• organizing
• caregiving
• spiritual insight
• leadership
• artistic creation
• survival wisdom
• innovation

It matters.

You do not have to shrink so others feel relaxed.
You do not have to dull your shine so others don’t feel threatened.

The dancers didn’t tone themselves down.
They didn’t apologize for being great.

They danced like the world needed that light —
because it did.

And so do you.

Your gifts are brilliant.

Let them shine.
Let them stretch.
Let them lead.

History will remember those who dared to move freely —
and you are part of that lineage.

**There is a difference between Studio54 and Soul Train. Two entirely different entities. Soul Train was a legendary cultural experience that ran on television for 36 years. There will never be another. Respect.

**Note, it is unlikely that these dancers were “high” on anything but the music, the fashion, and vibe which they always knew was special. The producers ran a tight ship.

<p>The post Soul Train: Where art became cross-cultural language first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

📅  1964: During a tour of South Africa, she refused to perform for segregated audiences under the country’s apartheid laws. Rather than do separate shows for Black and white audiences, she insisted on integrated audiences. Far Out Magazine

🚫 South African authorities responded: Because she would not comply with apartheid rules about race and performance, she and her band were ordered to leave the country and were deported before completing their planned shows. Far Out Magazine+1

In other words, her deportation wasn’t a punishment for being from another country. Instead, it was because she took a stand against racial segregation by insisting on performing before mixed crowds—a stance the government at the time did not allow. Far Out Magazine

Ok so she was just bad! And yes, we knew it.

There are moments when doing the right thing does not lead to applause.
It leads to resistance.
It leads to consequences.
It leads to being asked—or forced—to leave.

This can be deeply confusing for Survivors.

We are often taught that if we are kind enough, quiet enough, talented enough, or compliant enough, we will be allowed to stay.
That goodness will protect us.
That excellence will shield us.

History tells a more honest story.

Sometimes you are removed not because you failed—but because you refused to participate in harm.

Sometimes your “no” exposes a system that depends on silence.
Sometimes your presence disrupts rules that were never meant to be just.
Sometimes your refusal makes it impossible for others to pretend.

And when that happens, the system does what systems often do:
It pushes you out instead of changing itself.

For Survivors, this can echo familiar pain:

• Being excluded after speaking truth

• Being punished for setting boundaries

• Being labeled “difficult” for refusing to comply

• Being told you could have stayed if you had just gone along

Let this be said gently and clearly:

Removal is not always rejection.
Sometimes it is confirmation.

It confirms that your values are intact.
It confirms that your humanity is awake.
It confirms that you chose alignment over approval.

You do not have to stay in places that require you to betray yourself.
You do not have to accept access that is conditional on silence.
You do not have to earn belonging by shrinking.

Affirmation

I honor myself when I refuse harm.
I trust my conscience even when it costs me.
I am not wrong for choosing dignity over comfort.
If I am asked to leave a space that depends on injustice, I leave with my integrity whole.
I am allowed to stand where truth stands.

— Survivor Affirmations

<p>The post Sometimes Integrity Gets You Removed: And That Doesn’t Mean You Were Wrong first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

While performing at the Municipal Auditorium in Birmingham before an all-white audience, a group of white segregationists rushed the stage and physically assaulted him. They knocked him off the piano bench and he suffered a back injury. Police intervened quickly and arrested several assailants. Wikipedia+1

“I just came here to entertain you. That was what I thought you wanted. I was born here in Alabama. Those folks hurt my back. I cannot continue, because I need to see a doctor.” EJI Calendar+1

👊 The attack was racially motivated — fueled by Jim Crow attitudes and resentment that a Black entertainer was performing for white audiences. Some plans for the assault involved many more men, but police disrupted it. Wikipedia

🎤 After the attack, Cole briefly returned to the stage and told the audience he couldn’t continue without medical attention. He later performed his scheduled show for Black audiences that same night. EJI Calendar

🧠 Cole was deeply affected by the incident. At the time he expressed confusion about being targeted, saying he wasn’t actively protesting segregation — but the attack helped push him toward deeper involvement in civil-rights causes. University of Dayton+1

How the Attack Shaped Nat King Cole’s Later Actions

Before the Birmingham assault, Nat King Cole was often described as careful and non-confrontational about civil rights. He believed—understandably—that excellence, dignity, and professionalism might offer protection in a violently segregated world. Was he not the epitome of excellence?

What Birmingham taught him was this:

Even restraint is not immunity.
Even brilliance is not shelter.
Even silence does not guarantee safety.

After that night, several shifts became visible, because Mr. Cole was done and he was through.

1. He became more financially supportive of the movement
Nat King Cole began quietly donating to civil-rights organizations, including the NAACP. He didn’t always publicize this. He understood the cost of visibility—and chose impact over applause.

2. He stopped believing that “just entertaining” was enough
His statement—“I came here to entertain you”—was not weakness.
It was a realization spoken aloud: that even joy, talent, and grace were being politicized when carried in a Black body.

That recognition changed how he understood the world he was moving through.

3. He grew clearer about the limits placed on Black excellence
Cole did not suddenly become a protest singer. His contribution was different—and that matters. He embodied the truth that:

Respectability does not protect you from hatred.
Silence does not stop violence.
Success does not cancel racism.

For many Survivors, this resonates deeply.
You can do everything “right” and still be targeted.
You can be peaceful and still be punished.
You can offer beauty and still be met with harm.

4. He influenced the generation that followed
Artists like Sam Cooke would later speak openly about how Nat King Cole’s experiences shaped their own decisions to be more explicit, more outspoken, more demanding of dignity. Cole’s pain became part of a lineage of clarity.

He didn’t fail the movement by being who he was.
He showed, in real time, the cost of existing in a body the world had already decided to politicize.

5. By 1957 Nat King Cole was calling things out. Cole himself chose to end 📺 The Nat King Cole Show which was a weekly musical variety series on NBC beginning in 1956. Cole was first African-American entertainer to host a national TV variety program show and after NBC couldn’t find sponsors and the network planned less favorable time slots. He famously said of advertisers, “Madison Avenue is afraid of the dark,” pointing to how racial prejudice shaped who gets supported and who doesn’t. Wikipedia

Why This Matters for Survivors Today

This is not just history.
This is pattern recognition.

Many Survivors are accused of being “too much,” “divisive,” or “making it about identity” when they are simply naming what happened to them.

Nat King Cole’s life reminds us:

• You don’t have to be loud to be targeted

• You don’t have to be radical to be punished

• Sometimes your presence alone disrupts denial

And that does not make you wrong.

There will be moments when people accuse you of being “racial,” “divisive,” or “making things about race.”

Not because you shouted.
Not because you attacked.
Not because you sought conflict.

But because you showed up as yourself.

In this world, some bodies arrive already read as statements.
Some lives are treated as arguments.
Some presence is interpreted as defiance—before a single word is spoken.

That is not something you created.
That is something history assigned.

You are not responsible for the discomfort that rises when truth stands in the room.

Sometimes who you are is already considered “on the offense”—
not because you’re aggressive,
but because your existence disrupts the fantasy that everything is neutral, fair, or resolved.

This is not about intention.
It is about perception shaped by power.

You may notice:

• People demand that you be “less visible” to be considered fair
• Your silence is acceptable, but your voice is labeled a threat
• Your presence is tolerated only when it reassures others
• Your humanity is politicized while theirs is presumed neutral

This is not because you failed to be gentle enough.
It is because some systems only feel peaceful when you are quiet.

Let this be a reminder you return to often:

Being named “political” does not mean you are wrong.
It often means you are seen.

There is nothing radical about existing in your full humanity.
There is nothing hostile about telling the truth of your life.
There is nothing aggressive about refusing to shrink.

You are allowed to take up space without apologizing.
You are allowed to speak without translating your pain into palatable language.
You are allowed to stand firm without being mislabeled.

Affirmation

I release the need to defend my existence.
I am not required to soften my truth to make others comfortable.
I understand that my presence may challenge illusions—but I do not carry shame for that.
I stand rooted, whole, and clear.
I belong here.

— Survivor Affirmations

<p>The post When Being Yourself Is Labeled “Political”: Why some people are punished simply for showing up first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

Not pretty enough? Tsk. My mind can’t even take that in? She’s super gorgeous still and always will be but go watch Kramer v. Kramer and see what foolish comment this was. 

He looked at me, then turned to his son and said in Italian: “Why did you bring me this ugly thing?”

I understood every word. The audition was for King Kong.

And that moment felt like a punch straight to the stomach.

I had just arrived in Hollywood, full of hope, and one of the most influential producers—Dino De Laurentiis—decided I wasn’t worthy of the big screen. Not beautiful enough. Not good enough.

And for a second… I almost believed him. Those cruel words nearly made me walk out, abandon the room, and abandon my dream.

I thought: If the most powerful man here thinks this of me, who am I to disagree? But instead of breaking down or running away, I looked him in the eye and answered back in perfect Italian: “Sorry to disappoint you.”

I took that humiliation and turned it into fuel.

Today, I have more than twenty Oscar nominations. Physical beauty fades. Persistence and talent do not. Never let a small man’s opinion define the size of your dream. What someone else calls a flaw may become the mark that makes you unforgettable.

—  Meryl Streep

I am built from endurance, not approval. What lasts in me cannot be taken by time or opinion.

<p>The post Meryl Streep: I AM Built from Endurance Not Approval first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

Notice how people speak about sacrifices made for art vs. how they speak about sacrifices made for their favorite football or basketball player…..

When people talk about Prince’s body—
the injuries, the surgeries, the pain—they rarely say what they’re really saying.

They frame it as concern.
As hindsight.
As “if only.”

But beneath it is something older and sharper.

They are questioning his maleness.

Not openly.
Not honestly.
But persistently.

Because if Prince had used his body differently—
if he had sacrificed it on a football field,
or bruised it in hockey rinks,
or broken it down for a sport already sanctioned as “masculine”—

No one would be asking if it was worth it.

They would call him disciplined.
They would call him tough.
They would call it the cost of greatness.

But Prince was a dancer.

And that changed everything.

Dance Exposes the Double Standard

Dance requires strength, stamina, precision, endurance, and pain tolerance.
It demands training that is relentless.
It reshapes muscle, bone, balance, and breath.

It is athleticism.

But because dance is expressive, sensual, embodied—
because it refuses the blunt language of domination—
it is treated as suspect when practiced by men.

Especially Black men.

Especially men who refuse to blunt themselves to be palatable.

So when Prince’s body bore the marks of devotion,
people didn’t read it as occupational risk.

They read it as a flaw.

A choice too soft.
Too vain.
Too indulgent.

Not masculine enough.

This Is About Permission

We allow certain bodies to be spent.

We give permission for boys, little ones, to be injured in the name of:

• competition

• aggression

• conquest

• legacy

We do not give that same permission for:

• beauty

• artistry

• sensual intelligence

• emotional truth

When men choose the latter, their masculinity is quietly put on trial.

Prince stood in that tension unapologetically.

He did not apologize for the way he moved.
He did not harden his art to soothe anyone’s comfort.
He did not make his body smaller to earn approval.

And for that, his pain is reinterpreted as a mistake rather than a consequence of mastery.

Women Notice These Things

Because we have watched this play out again and again.

We know how bodies are policed.
We know how worth is assigned.
We know how deviation is punished with “concern.”

We know when someone is being asked:
Why didn’t you choose a more acceptable way to be yourself?

Prince didn’t fail his body.

He honored it.

He used it with intention, devotion, and genius.

What unsettles people is not the injury.

It’s the refusal to live inside the narrow permissions offered to him as a man.

Let’s Be Honest About the Discomfort

If Prince had broken himself for a sport,
they would have said:
“He gave everything for what he loved.”

Because he broke himself for ART,
they say:
“He should have known better.”

That tells us everything.

This was never about safety.

It was about who gets to decide which lives, which bodies, and which callings are worthy.

It is okay for people to speak exhaustively about how petite and short statured he was, but not about how that same physique gave him athletic advantages as an extraordinary dancer. 

In any case, Prince decided for himself.

Prince didn’t fail his body.
He used it with intention.

And that kind of freedom has always made people uncomfortable.

Because let us note that after the devastation and warnings of CTE, football games go on as planned. With great enthusiasm and financial support. From little league on up. Even after the tragedy of Aaron Hernandez and his high school football teammates who themselves went on to commit violent offenses. (includes multiple murders and a police ambush)

So let this be the part we carry forward.

Do not let people who have never lived in your body decide what your devotion should look like.
Do not let borrowed fears talk you out of your own calling.
Do not let “concern” become a softer word for control.

Every true path asks something of the body, the spirit, the nerves.
There is no risk-free way to live honestly.

What matters is not whether the calling costs you.
What matters is whether it is yours.

Prince listened to the voice that told him who he was.
He answered it fully.
And whatever the cost, he did not live half-formed or apologetic.

That kind of life is not reckless.
It is intentional.

So heed the thing that keeps returning to you.
The craft.
The movement.
The work that makes your body feel awake and your spirit feel aligned.

Let others manage their discomfort.

Your task is simpler—and braver:
to live in truth,
to honor your gift,
and to spend your life on something that recognizes you back.

When Prince’s athleticism—his dancing, his physical devotion to art—is criticized as “dangerous,” “reckless,” or “self-inflicted,” what’s actually being questioned is:

Is this a worthy use of a body?

Even when the injury risks are equal or higher in sanctioned sports.

So no—this isn’t about concern.
It’s about whose pursuits are respected.

<p>The post It’s Not About Safety. It’s About How He Used His Body. first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

path designed for extreme longevity of the body.

More than most people, dancers understand exactly what their bodies are telling them.

I am allowed to choose the life I want to live.

I listen to my body.
I honor its signals.
And I also honor my spirit—
the part of me that longs to move, create, build, dance, sing, risk, love.

I understand that every meaningful life carries cost.
Still, I choose consciously—not by accident, not by pressure, not by fear.

I do not owe anyone a sanitized version of my humanity.
I do not need to justify my devotion to the things that make me feel alive.

Like all true artists, athletes, and builders,
I know that passion leaves marks.
And I accept that my life is mine to shape.

I release the need to explain myself to spectators.
I refuse to let endings erase purpose.
I honor a life by speaking of its fire, not its final hour.

I choose how I live.
I choose what matters.
I choose to move toward what feels true—even when it is demanding.

And that choice belongs to me.

Prince chose thriving over postponing life.
He chose expression over rationing joy.
He chose to pour himself fully into the years he had,
rather than live cautiously for a

future that was never promised.

Dancers know the cost, and still they must because it is who they are.

Prince created such mesmerizing iconic classics that you almost missed that he was a brilliant dancer. Not just because he enjoyed dancing like so many of us human beings. But also, because his body had physical advantages. And so, he was a dancer. He chose to be a dancer…..too. 

Yes, this post is about agency. 

<p>The post An Affirmation for Choosing How You Live first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>

Notice how people speak about sacrifices made for art vs. how they speak about sacrifices made for their favorite football or basketball player…..

Dancers understand this almost instinctively.

Anyone who danced the way Prince danced—
with that level of athleticism, speed, torque, elevation, repetition,
and especially in heels—
understood early on that this was not a path designed for extreme longevity of the body.

Not because of ignorance.
But because of honesty.

Dancers learn quickly that the body keeps score.
It speaks through ankles and knees.
Through hips and spine.
Through feet that ache long after the lights go out.

And still—there is choice.

Prince chose thriving over postponing life.
He chose expression over rationing joy.
He chose to pour himself fully into the years he had,
rather than live cautiously for a future that was never promised.

That choice was not denial.
It was clarity, especially as a Black creative who lived through many of his peers leaving this world too soon with earth shattering gifts still unwrapped.

Most elite dancers know they are not training for deep old age onstage.
They are training for now—
for presence, excellence, impact, and truth in motion.

This is where agency matters.

Some people choose a long life defined by calm, soothing, and physical preservation.
That is a valid choice.
It is not, however, every artist’s choice.

Others choose to use the body fully—
lovingly, fiercely, and with intention—
knowing that devotion leaves marks.

Neither path is foolish.
They are simply different lives.

Prince did not dance because it was safe.
He danced because it was who he was.

Dancers recognize this immediately,
because many of them have made the same quiet agreement with their bodies:

They will listen.
They will care.
And they will also live through them.

Thriving is not the same as lasting forever.
Sometimes thriving means burning bright—
skillfully, deliberately—
and leaving a legacy that outlives the body itself.

That, too, is wisdom.

<p>The post The Bold Choice to Live AND Thrive first appeared on Survivor Affirmations.</p>