“how are you doing today?” i asked, smiling.
“fine, thank you” he replied from behind the counter. “how are you?”
“i’m glad it’s friday!” i said, an even bigger smile crossing my face.
“me too!” he beamed, as he started to prepare my order.
i had every intention of eating my bagged lunch this afternoon. i had every intention of continuing my quest to (more times than not, anyway) be a vegetarian until 6pm (only eating meat for dinner), but sometimes intentions don’t turn into reality.
i needed to get out – get away from the cube that holds me captive some 40-hours a week. i needed a jolt of creative inspiration.
tucking a memoir by one of my most favorite authors under my arm, i headed out the doors of the high rise i work in downtown and headed for a sandwich shop that sounded delicious today.
i’m learning to keep my eyes open all the time, and by that i don’t mean that i literally walk around with my eyes closed, constantly bumping into things and people, but rather i’m referring to my desire to see, really see, what is going on around me. life can be pretty busy and distracting that we can miss the beauty around us:
the congregation pouring out of the church after noon mass, the trees decorated with lights that shine brightly even in the daylight hours, the way the sun shines off of the windows of the countless buildings downtown, friends walking side by side lost in conversation. (the list is endless, really)
i spent the better part of my lunch break soaking in the words from the book: words about happiness. joy. pain. sorrow.
life has it all: the good, the bad and the in-between. i’m choosing to celebrate it. to show up every day and give my best. to cultivate faithfulness in the little things, trusting that if i’m faithful in the little things, bigger things will follow.
i want to learn to invest in people, in friendships. to be fully present in the moment rather than automatically trying to think of the next thing i can say or dwelling on what else needs to get done.
i want to live, really live. when it’s all said and done, i don’t want to look back and have any regrets. may the saying, “i don’t have time…” never cross my lips again.
life is a process. i’m not there yet.
i like what ruth bell graham’s epitaph reads:
“end of construction. thank you for your patience.”
thank you for your patience, friends.