On May 26th, I turned 37 years old.
It was a quiet day.
Jesse was working so I had the house to myself. Sometimes on Sunday morning, I like to head to the coffee shop with my laptop for a chai and a few productive hours, but today I decided to stay home. I drug a chair outside to our new (yet to be finished) patio area with a cup of coffee and enjoyed the sunshine.
I tend to get a little navel-gazey on my birthday and this year was no exception. This time around I decided to lean into it, instead of feeling ashamed of being self-centered. Don’t feel ashamed about self-reflection, friends, it is the only way to grow.
So I spent the day thinking, reading and daydreaming. I also watched a fair amount of Battlestar Galactica and ate a bunch of cheese.
Do I have everything figured out? Of course not.
I am alright with that? You bet your ass.
I want to leave you with one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems. I hope your day is full of thinking, reading, and daydreaming.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.