All Those Small Things

"One would say she was a simple woman, made happy by simple things. I think this was true. And more than once, in my long life, I have wished to be her."
~Mary Oliver

I make the soft right and there it is. It gets me every time. The leaves have changed and the entire street hums with golden yellows and gentle oranges. If there's a morning breeze, small tornados of color line the sidewalk and spin past my car. Each morning my breath is stolen away by its beauty. Each morning I am shocked by its unassuming grace. Each morning I marvel at the deep impact those tiny details make in life.

The three of us used to play this game we called "high, low." At any point we could turn to one another and say those words and the other person would have to name the lowest and highest points of their day so far, in that order. It just made sense to save the best for last. What we discovered of course, was that the highs, no matter how seemingly insignificant at the time, always seemed to outweigh the lows, and that the lows, no matter how seemingly devastating at the time, were never really all that bad. Generally both answers received much needed laughter.

This week has been all about those little things that happen from day to day.

The flock of small black birds that took flight at the same instant over the empty parking lot, the sound of their wings rushing above me.

The three purple balloons caught in the highest point of a tall naked oak tree.

The old man with the white beard, dressed in red flannel from head to toe with a large brown cane beside him, sitting outside the market around the corner, sipping his coffee. The way I knew if I was a child I would have thought this homeless man to be Santa Clause. The way I knew as an adult that I still had hope that maybe he was.

The large deer that stopped right in the center of my favorite street, and how he stayed there long enough to meet my gaze head on, and how he vanished quickly enough that no one else witnessed his quiet perfection besides me.

My life is all about these moments.

Already I have created inside jokes with my new coworker. We look at each other and know what the other is thinking. We laugh at things we shouldn't. We have more fun than we probably should. It's nice to feel that again. It's important. It's those little looks and jokes and giggles that get me through the day.

I have spent every lunch break this week writing epically in my journal. I've written more in the past four days than in the past four weeks, perhaps even months. It's felt so good to reconnect with writing, reconnect with myself. More and more, I am starting to feel like me again. More and more those simple pleasures find me and I remember why it is I am so grateful to be living this little life of mine.

I arrived home today to find my re-acceptance letter to school. In January I'll start again part time to (FINALLY) get my degree. It's taken me almost three years to get the urge to finish college, but I guess what's important is that it's here now. I'm excited to begin. I'm excited to feel ready, to feel like I have a goal in mind and that I'm working toward it. I'm excited by the prospect of getting what I want out of life, of creating the opportunity to be the best version of myself I can be, the best version I have yet to be. I'm excited for this new adventure.

Of course, like all things worth doing, there will be moments of doubt and misery and exhaustion, I'm sure. Working full time and going to school will be a lot, but the truth is, I'm ready. I'm determined. I don't want to waste another moment waiting for something to happen. It's my turn to take the lead. It's my story to write.

And so I take a tiny step forward and, becoming breathless at its beauty, shocked by its grace, I marvel at the deep impact that one tiny step has made.