Honestly, now.

It occurred to me today that sometimes the only thing that holds me together is the fact that I don’t want to reapply my mascara.    Which is ridiculous……and amusing.

And by that I mean, I mean it is an amazing day.  (Actually, this started last night.  I took a long walk and aired out my mind.  It’s astonishing how much I needed to do that.)   One of those days where very few things could dim my joy.  It doesn’t happen very often where I can see everything  in this light.  It’s hard to explain.  But I’ll try.  Today, I’m am overwhelmingly grateful.  Today, I can look at every event, every moment in my past and see the beauty in it.  Today, I look around at the people that I know and I feel amazed by them and honored for knowing them.  I’m not even beginning to describe the truth of it.  I don’t think I can.  So instead, here just a bunch of random obvservations.

I love the way trees smell.

I’m charmed that the owner of my gym, a guy with huge arms, folds light blue towels in a very delicate manner.

I’m grateful that I have a body that responds well to training.

I’m happy that my mother instilled a love of reading in me.  This enriches my life everyday.

I’m glad that I have silly friends who teach me things about steamboats.

I relish the way writing feels. Not in the metaphoric sense, but actually how it feels to scratch out words on paper.

I’m fortunate to have coworkers that put up with my goofiness six days of the week.

I appreciate living where I do.  I have a roomie that I adore (who is willing to help me whenever I need it) as well as excellent neighbors (who are also helpful).

I like organic peanut butter, much to my suprise.

This list could go on for years.  Decades, even.  Have a lovely day.

I’m simultaneously tired and completely awake.  But in my non-sleepy state, I suddenly starting thinking of a piece of advice that one of my sisters gave to me.

“You know things are going to be different when you move to a different country.  What people don’t tell you is that everything is different when you come back.”

The last time I was home, it was hard.  Imagine if someone broke into your home and moved all of your furniture about two inches to the left.  Suddenly, tasks you used to do in your sleep become rather tricky.  And while you think it’d be easy to just remember that everything has moved a bit, it takes constant reminders.  Until those reminders sink in, you have to deal with bruised shins and broken glasses.  It’s minor, in the scheme of things.  Minor, but taxing.

Now I’m getting ready to go back home and I don’t know where any of my furniture will be this time.

Here I go again, borrowing trouble.  I think I’ll lie in bed and count the buses as they drive by.

“Cheshire-Puss,” she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. “Come, it’s pleased so far,” thought Alice, and she went on. “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat.
“I don’t much care where-” said Alice.
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.
“-so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an explanation.
“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk long enough.”

It’s intensive, meaning I work long, long days with small children who would much rather be outside playing than listening to me.  I would rather they be outside as well.

It feels like it’s time to go, but I still have over seventy days left.