Wonderful World

So I'm back. And despite the fact that I still need a router to have the kind of wireless freedom I've grown accustomed to, at least I have some form of internet connection, some means of reaching out.

I have so much to update, so many stories to tell, so many highs and lows to record. It feels as though each room of this new home deserves it's own entry, as does each adventure I've been on with my new roommate, as does each day I've woken up with a new sense of pride and purpose in my life.

Which is not to say that it has not been stressful. Most days I find myself at work wishing my mind wasn't a million miles away, decorating rooms and making lists of things to buy, things to do. Most days I have planned down to the minute. Most days there hasn't even been time to write.

But slowly, slowly, things are coming together. Slowly this place is beginning to feel like me, like us, like home. Slowly I lower my roots deeper and deeper into the ground. It is here that I intend to grow.

Never have I lived in a place so alive. The streets are never empty. In every yard grow beautiful, bright, bold, colorful flowers. Our neighbors have all gone out of their way to introduce themselves, offer assistance, welcome us home. I know more of my neighbors here than I have known in every other place I've lived, combined. They are always out gardening, or sitting on front porches, or walking around simply for the sake of enjoying our neighborhood. I have taken to joining in this practice.

So for the past two Saturdays and Sundays, I've woken early and just walked. No destination or real purpose in mind, just an exploration and chance to reflect on things, to breathe, to forget my long to-do lists. It's nice to have this time to myself. It's nice to have my mind so full of thought and yet so clear. It's nice to wander through these quaint little streets in our darling little borough and know that this is home. It's nice to feel home.

A golden retriever looks up from her front porch and follows me with her eyes as I walk by. Her gaze meets mine and we stand there staring at one another in perfect silence and stillness. She raises her long dark lips to either side into a smirk that I understand well. For a moment, we share this knowing smile. Yes, I nod in agreement, it is so achingly wonderful - this life, this world, this knowing. Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world. I feel my eyes swell with tears.

As I make my way to the top of the hill, I see him standing there. I don't notice at first. The dog has to bark before I look down to discover two steel poles where his legs should be. He doesn't even try to hide them under pants, but rather, allows the early morning sun to reflect its glorious rays upon them. They are almost blinding. They are almost beautiful, the way they glimmer and shine.

I think that what I should be feeling is pity, or sadness, or guilt that I should get to have these two legs to walk the earth while he has none. I think that's the appropriate reaction, but it is not what I feel. Instead I am consumed with an overwhelming sense of astonishment and gratitude for this world. That we live in a place, in a time, when a man without legs can climb to the top of a hill with his pet dog is an amazing thing indeed. That we live in a place, in a time, where anything and everything seems possible is truly remarkable. That we live in a place, in a time, when a young woman of only twenty-three can find herself owning a house she loves, working a job she adores, finding family in every person she meets is the very definition of perfection. Call it what you will - prayer, hope, optimism, foolishness - I love this place, this time. I love this life I am blessed enough to live. I love this world we are all blessed enough to be a part of. I exhale a sigh of awe every time I breathe.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world.