Close your eyes. Play this in the beautiful landscape of your mind.
You’re at a five-star buffet of life, piling your plate sky-high with everyone else’s seconds—boss’s deadlines, lover’s moods, kid’s tantrums. Then the lights flicker. The mirror cracks. And a voice whispers, “Plate’s full, genius. Yours is empty.” Ouch. Or is it?
Dear Love, it is time to spill it. What wisdom hides in the art of doting on myself? Because let’s face it, we’re all pros at self-sabotage marathons—running ragged for applause that never comes. For attention that is never received.
Dear Love, what would you have me know about learning how to dote upon myself?
Walking past a mirror and actually liking what you see. Not tolerating. Not accepting. Liking.
We live in a world where we’ll binge-watch seven seasons of other people’s lives but can’t sit with ourselves for seven minutes without reaching for a distraction. Where we’ll send “thinking of you” texts to seventeen people but never to the one person reading this right now.
So we ask Love itself: What would you have me know about learning how to dote upon myself?
And Love, that cheeky b*X*>, laughed.
The Museum Guard Who Changed Everything
You might be aware of this unverified story which I chanced upon recently.
There’s this security guard at the Louvre Museum—Henri—who spent 40 years watching tourists photograph the Mona Lisa while never looking at the painting themselves. All lens, no presence. One day, his daughter asked, “Papa, when was the last time you just looked at her?”
He realized he’d been in the room with beauty for decades but never actually with it.
We’re all Henri. In the room with ourselves—this wild, unrepeatable consciousness—but busy documenting life for an audience that’s also not paying attention.
What Love Actually Said
When you press Love harder, it gets serious:
“Doting isn’t self-indulgence. It’s self-preservation. You can’t love from an empty vessel. You can only leak desperation and resentment from there. Fill yourself first. Overflow second.”
Then it added: “And stop waiting for someone else to give you permission. That’s not love—that’s probably hostage negotiation.”
Self-doting isn’t bubble baths and affirmations. It’s the revolutionary act of treating your own company as valuable.
My Pickup Truck Epiphany If You Will…
Last month, I chased a client deadline( you can ask, what’s new?) like a dog after its tail—emails at 2 AM, coffee as blood. Crashed into a wall (metaphorical, thankfully). Sat in my car, engine off, staring at the dashboard. Asked Love: “What now?” Answer hit like cheap whiskey: Stop driving everyone else’s car. Tune yours. Doted on myself with 20 minutes of nothingness. Zilch. Bliss. Paced my story? Chaos to calm in one gear shift.
The Monk Who Quit Enlightenment
Jiddu Krishnamurti, the anti-guru guru, ditching his messiah role at 30. Why? He saw “enlightenment” as another’s script. He chose self-doting—quiet walks, unscripted thoughts. Rare truth: The guy who could’ve owned spirituality said no. Lesson? Dote first, or your soul starves amid the spotlight.
But what if doting isn’t bubble baths and brunches? What if it’s rebellion?
The Elephant In The…
Elephants. These titans dote via “dust baths”—rolling in mud not for spa vibes, but survival. Mud blocks sun, kills parasites. Rare? They teach calves this ritual young. Humans? We slather on others’ mud and call it loyalty.
So, If You Need An Invitation…
For one week, treat yourself like someone you’re trying to seduce. Not impress—seduce. Notice what you need before you need it. Laugh at your own jokes. Cancel plans that feel like obligations. Buy the good coffee. Dance in your kitchen. Be unabashedly pleased by your own existence.
Because…here’s the secret they don’t print on motivational posters: The love you’re seeking? It’s already here. In the body that carried you through every heartbreak. In the mind that never stopped trying. In the soul that’s reading this, hoping for permission.
Consider it granted.
So, If You Read This Far, How About Some Takeaways?
Dote like a rebel: Say no to one “yes” today. Watch your energy roar back.
Mirror ritual: Daily, ask, “What feeds me?” Not them. Journal it.
Elephant wisdom: Muddy up your boundaries. Rare truth—self-care isn’t selfish; it’s seismic.
Krishnamurti hack: Quit one “should.” Walk. Think free.
Dear Love, you whisper: Doting on myself isn’t indulgence; it’s insurrection against a world that devours the undoted. Start small—your truck awaits. Provoke yourself first.
What’s your dust bath? Hit reply. Let’s stir the mud.