Skip to main content

 I used to always think the best thing I had to offer was fun. I'm a shitton of fun. During quarantine, I had students make sock puppets and do a lipsynch battle. I once let my kids sit on the roof of the car while I pulled up the driveway. I sing loud even at stoplights with the windows down. I am always thinking of games, texting funny pictures, saying weird stuff to make people laugh. I make myself happy nearly every day with silliness.

But once when I said that was the best thing I have to offer, my husband disagreed. I didn't know what to make of it. I thought he was wrong. I was kinda mad actually. Why didn't he think the best thing about me was the best thing about me? Maybe he didn't get me. 

But more than a year later, I don't think that's it at all. I'm not actually sure what he thinks it is and I'm still not sure if he's right. The fun part is pretty uniquely me and I really like it about myself. But maybe the fun part is the part that's the easiest to find and easiest to like about me. Perhaps he's right that the easiest part to like isn't really the best part though.

Maybe the best part of me is a little deeper than that and maybe, he knew it all along. Maybe the ways I grow compassion for others, the ways I am present for people, the way I can really see people's value is the best part. I have a pretty solid knack for seeing someone deeply and finding a kernel of what make them them and liking them. 

When I'm looking closely at the people I see often, I'm looking at what I love about them. I am learning their faces so I can love their faces. I am imagining being in their shoes and what I'd want someone to say to me if I were struggling with whatever they are struggling with. I am seeing their strength and thinking of things that will make them feel their strength. Maybe this is what's best about me.

If I'm honest though, I wish it were my writing. My hope is to someday match that ability to deeply see the value of others with finely honed writing skill to make that the best thing I have to offer. 

I'm writing every day and the book I'm working on has the most potential of anything I've ever written. If I can execute it well, it will be a great story. I mean, a great story. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I spent a few minutes consider what things excite me and bring me an instant jolt of joy. Those things' shine never dulls; I am consistently delighted by them. This is a list of those things:

1. Hugs from my kids

2. The sight of Red and Buffalo peaks from Lake Dillon, especially but also from Ptarmigan trail.

3. Seeing fish jump.

4. Seeing a shooting star,

5. Seeing moose, bald eagles, otters, and fox. Seeing any new animal I've never seen before.

6. Getting a cat to jump after a toy or my hand under a blanket.

7. Jumping into water whether flipping or diving or jumping off a rope swing.

8. Someone telling me a reason they like my kid.

9. Ripping paper off a present.

10. Popping bubble wrap


And finally, an anecdote you may already know is that one time I had a bubble wrap party. I managed to acquire four 5-foot industrial rolls of bubble wrap and emptied a room out of my mother's house and we wrestled in bubble wrap. I am a shitton of fun.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Home birth- The real fuckin deal

So the end of pregnancy is for the fuckin birds. I'm sure plenty of you out there know this. There's nothing to say but that you're sick of being pregnant. You're a little sick of the sweet smiles and knowing looks from strangers. You're just all over sick of it. You're spectacularly sick of the: when's your due date how far are you are you having a boy or a girl I bet you're sick of this what hospital are you going to, conversations. You miss when people used to ask about the soccer game you played or the book you're reading. You're sick of swollen handsfeetfaceneckanklesEVERYTHING. Oh and from the beginning of pregnancy until FRIDAY, I had NO stretch marks. Friday my entire lower abdomen erupted into one. giant. stretch mark. So all weekend, I thought, please let this be over soon. Every cramp I felt I welcomed and thought, "whatever work my body does now, it doesn't have to do during labor." Little did I know how much

Having Babies at Home

My whole life, I've heard the story of my cousin Anna's birth. And her sister's too. But I hear more about Anna's. My aunt didn't exactly have a lot of love for the medical profession. And her first baby had been a horrible experience. She'd had him wrenched from her at least as much as she "gave him up" for adoption by nursing staff who leered at her and called her unpleasant names. And she loved him when he was born. And she found him when he turned 18 and loved him till the day she died. When she had kids for keeps, she did it differently. She read books and assigned duties and had them at home. She was brave and surely faced many people who disagreed with her decision. But she stuck by her convictions and her desire for a natural birth and won 2 beautiful girls. My mom was there when Anna was born. So was her sister, Kristina. They both still get this sparkle in their eyes whenever they talk about it. My mom says it was one of the most

Dear Book Pimp

So I wrote this book and I think it's pretty decent. That's the feedback I'm getting anyway, which is bitchin' really since I have a degree in Education, NOT writing. Plus, this is my first try, so really I should be happy, right? But, turns out writing the book is maybe the easy part. The publishing is another story. You have to find a Literary Agent. To do this, you have to write a 1-3 page letter to many literary agents to convince them to read a sample chapter. Send it with a Self addressed stamped envelope (SASE) and wait. there's more but I'm already experiencing a high level anxiety just writing about this part. In my letter, I'm supposed to explain who I am, what my book's about, why I'm qualified to write it, why its sicky illy good, who'll read it, and on and on. AHHHHHhhhhh! This shit scares me. Also, I'm supposed to be witty, clever, literary, and junk. Oh and explain a 300 page book in a sales pitch. I'm not a frea