It's a practice. I've heard that people who do yoga (unlike me -- apparently i just pay for yoga classes and never show up) talk about just showing up on the mat. Here I am, just showing up at the page. At the computer. In the basement. Near the laundry (some clean, some not). Here.
Still alive. Thank you.
wearing clothing that is mostly suited to the season, my life, my work, and my chosen color story. Cool.
As of yet, the lights are still on, the internet is still connected, the roof is solid. Amen.
In a home with people and animals I love. Hallelujah.
Today I worked at a job I enjoy. I even played with a puppy.
Today I ate clean, safe food and drank fresh, cool water.
My wife made me a killer cappuccino.
My child is sleeping sweetly after a bath, nutritious food, and a day of working and playing under the guidance of stellar teachers.
I can listen to music. I can read. I can walk down my street at any hour of the day, and no one tries to blow me up.
I put gas in my car tonight. I have a car.
There may have been ice cream.
I am so lucky. These are only a tiny handful of all the good stuff going on. The bad stuff, the hard stuff, the stuff that wakes me up at night -- that stuff is SMALL, in comparison.
I am practicing writing. Practicing gratitude. Practicing it all.
Hi. That's me. I write, sometimes, about parenting, storytelling, and about living a life with stories.