Sometimes the world seems like an eternal crap-storm and there’s absolutely nothing we can do to make it better. Sometimes the days stretch out empty and you have no idea how to fill them. Sometimes you can glimpse happiness around the corner, like it’s playing hide and seek with you, but happiness is one of those annoying little kids who will stay in her hiding place all day and then afterward, never tell you where it is.
Sometimes it’s good to just focus really hard on the things you love. It’s okay to start small.
I love the tree outside our bedroom window. Our neighbors planted it just four or five years ago now. I don’t know what kind of tree it is, but it grew fast. When I look out my window in the summer, I see it there–green against blue. When the wind blows, it dances. It’s a flowing and flexible tree. Sometimes I feel like it’s trying to tell me something.
I love the little hematite rock that sits on my desk. It feels smooth in my hand and reflects the world back at me like a miniature version of the bean sculpture in Chicago. It was given to me by a friend at a yoga and writing retreat to absorb all the sadness that’s generated sometimes when you’re writing. It’s my sadness sponge.
I love the mug I bought at Ditto’s, a store in downtown Madison. It is a small and beautiful thing. As much as possible surround yourself with beautiful things.
I love the piece of wood a writer friend sent me. It smells delicious–clean and deep. The scent doesn’t fade.
I love the bright blue lamp that came from my grandmother’s house and her desk that it sits on. The desk sat in a corner of the hallway with one of those big calendar blotters on top and the phone. The drawer on the bottom left side is worn and I wonder why. What did my grandmother keep there? She didn’t spend much time sitting at this desk because that wasn’t the kind of life she had. But in her house, the desk and its corner felt like a cool and secret place. Once, I could fit myself into the space underneath and hide.