I’m sitting at my desk, staring at a blank document (is there anything more thrilling/terrifying to a writer than that blinking cursor and that vast white plain of possibility that follows?). Took is tucked into the cupboard under my desk a la Harry Potter (her favorite snuggle place) watching a show about adventure and friendship on her iPad.
And I have so many things I want to say.
I could tell you about my life. Took has enough hijinx in a single day to fill a book and then some. I have hobbies (gardening, reading, art) and pets (ShaferHaus a zoo!) and thoughts (they tangle up with each other like colorful, vibrant spools of yarn) and feelings (so. many. feelings). And even though all that has been done a thousand times before, nobody has done it or thought it just like me (or just like you, for that matter).
I could tell you about my work. I could tell you that the hiatus from book-writing has been hard, but so worth it to spend quality time with Took during her last year at home. I could tell you that I struggle to find things to blog about, but that the process of forcing myself to put words on a page is satisfying and worthy. I could tell you that I secretly worry that I’m putting my small band of readers to sleep, but that I console myself that everybody needs a nap every now and then, so even if that’s the case, I’m still doing some good.
I could tell you about my hopes and dreams—and they are so much like yours. I hope for more money in the bank account than we need. I hope for relevance in my work. I hope to keep healthy. I hope for a tight-knit family with kids that grow up to be contributing members of society. I hope for family vacations, and late nights spent laughing with each other. I hope for love that endures a lifetime.
I could tell you about the weather. It’s windy out (it’s Kansas, so it’s always windy), and warm. Spring is here. The squirrels are getting ready for their babies, and my garden is being prepped to plant. Everything smells different–like the natural world is waking up from a long, refreshing sleep.
I could tell you all this, but you already know it in your life, in your own personal way.
There’s nothing new under the sun, and that is so comforting. Our desires (though the nuances may be as different as a speck of dust is from a boulder) are all so similar, are all made up of the same stuff. We want security. We want love. We want freedom and laughter. We want significance.
And that is so grand—that the casual beauty of my everyday life, my ups and downs and laughter and tears and victories and fears harmonize with yours. And that together, all of humanity is participating in this great chorus of life by simply existing and desiring a life that is good.
We are meant for good. To be good and to have good and to live good and love good.
Go forth, friends, and do good today.