Today is like any other day: a hurdy-gurdy collision of who we are and who we want to be. Two boys, not enough sleep, too many things on the to-do list. The same ordinary fears and falterings and hurdles that always find me, find me still.
And yet, I have this inexplicable gratitude: That I am alive. That this body moves. That each morning when I wake up I find one or two emails in my inbox from complete strangers telling me that my book has made a difference in their lives.
For the way T wakes up, and after showering finds my feet and rubs them, one and then the other, while I’m still trailing dreams.
For good espresso and the way the leaves have been a display of splendor: every shade of vermillion, every hue of gold. For running with T at lunchtime. Three miles next to the blue, blue lake.
For seeing my dear friend, even for only a handful of moments, her new hair cut slanting bangs and layers across her gorgeous cheekbones.
That my boys run to me when I get home. That first one, and then the other clamber into my arms, covering my cheeks with kisses. For the way we all gather around the kitchen counter then; T making curry and chicken, and me kneading and frying chapattis with Sprout, while Bean flips through the latest issue of a food magazine, pointing out recipes and reading the titles of things he’s curious about or wants to make.
For reading Secret Garden with Bean at bedtime, which is, hands down my favorite book from when I was a kid.
For the way the air smells under the nighttime stars; like snow soon, and decomposing leaves and woodsmoke. And for the way T’s skin feels, warm and salty and supple beside me as I crawl into bed for the night.
A day, this one, in it’s entirety: a handful of moments.
What holds your attention? What small things overtake you with the feeling of gratitude?
(I love to read your lists!)