What does it mean to have a full life? My perspective shifts all around on this, determined by my very changeable moods. But by whatever definition, this week my life was full. It was so good that when I reflect on it, I can push other thoughts aside: petty worries, passing concerns. I can remember being in conversation with John Shaefer on his radio show. He was so quick. Asked great questions. Had interesting things to say. Of course, he really liked my book too. Am I so shallow that I have the best times when I am being admired? Maybe so..
Though it was also spending last weekend with Chloe, and she is the opposite of that. Everything is about her when we are together. I am here to love her and take care of her, like the other adults in her life. True, we have fun and I’m special to her in that way. But she is a child. It’s not her job to “see” me. It’s mine to see her and I do. We made paintings. One of mine is posted above. She took hers home with her. We sculpted animals and beads from red clay. Sat on a hill with a million other people in Central Park to watch the first hour of Silver Linings Playbook. Then she wanted to leave, so we went back to my apartment and painted some more. In the morning, she asked me to edit her new story. She provides me with the opportunity to love like that, and it makes my life full.
I had sixteen years of sobriety this week, and spoke at two meetings. Had dinner with a good friend. I took care of my animals and worked on my new book. Now, I look out the window at the maple tree, cool breeze coming in. The sound of a jackhammer is intermittent. I’m thankful for the minutes of silence in between. That’s the key. It isn’t easy and even being able to recognize it, to realize that my life is full and good, is fleeting. I know that.