“…neighbors’ got a new car that you want to drive
and when time is running out you want to stay alive…”
Some friends had a board book I read to their kid once, and the mom and dad and grandpa and whoever else in the book tossed the baby up in the air. And the baby cried, “more, more, more,” delighted. We read that story about fifty times, which as it turned out killed the effect for me. I could have done with less. I get bored with repetition, with the mundane. Some of my neurosis is likely the cause or product of chronic restlessness.
I am still on vacation. And I am still in love with being around this.
There is also a good bit of green around here. Everything seems better when outside lies buried in green newness.
The oh-so-astute duke said he found it funny (in this context, funny is the gentler, nicer framing of weird or downright odd) that I opted to spend my vacation with a family with two little kids. “Babies?” he asked. I tried to explain. When I got here and relayed the story to Catherine, mom of said babies, she agreed. It is kinda odd, but she was glad that’s where I’ve landed.
But here’s the thing. This restless wanderlust refuses to settle. I love it. I want it. I think I need it.
It’s people, though, who help me yield when it is time to stop and show up and be present, which is most of the time. The mundane may be boring at times, but so much of the more side of life is found in consistency and commitment. I can be on vacation here without needing to travel somewhere exotic and new because here I stop and let my heart show up. And in so doing I find love and laughter and life in the simplicity of little hands reaching up, ready to be tossed, wanting to be hugged.
I often write that people are the greatest expression of God’s kindness to me. Here I find awareness of the excess of that kindness given to me. That excess makes me want to respond by rediscovering that awareness wherever I am.