Yesterday I was listless, sitting at my desk, trying to brainstorm topics to write for this month’s post. It wasn’t that I lacked ideas, but they all felt so plebeian in light of what’s happening out there. So I stared at a blank document, for a long time. I went for a walk and returned to the document, and stared. For a long time. What did I usually write about, I kept asking myself. How can I share where I am in my writing life in a way that’s meaningful, now, today, amidst all of this—when I can’t even write? Finally, I began—where each day should always begin—with a gratitude list.
Right now, I’m:
- learning to be patient again, or better or longer
- teaching my kids in inventive ways and seeing their minds expand
- enjoying nature in a way I haven’t in a long time
- appreciating technology and the way it keeps me connected to the people I love
- reading books like mad from my TBR list
- forgiving myself if the words don’t come, or come very slowly
- witnessing heroism and generosity of spirit from so many, in so many glorious ways
And witnessing one of those moments of generosity yesterday is what inspired this post. After I swallowed a lump in my throat, I went looking for beauty. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that I found beauty where I often shelter, and find solace.
In the words.
