The gift, though. Somedays I can hardly believe how astoundingly lucky I am. To have this sweet child running under foot. Reminding me of wonder. Reminding me of joy – of play – of discovery. Of the way life should be. Dragging me back to that elegant place of newness which resides everywhere, if you can keep yourself grateful. Little boy keeps shaking me awake in the best way possible. Making me show up, making me present in my skin. Making me make something of my moments, my days, my memories. Making me meaningful. Making our life together meaningful. Giving me art to breathe in to every minute of every day. Giving me those bright eyes again – to see the world as it’s meant to be. To be allowed back to that world, that world of fantastical imagining. To be allowed back to that place of wonder, and to call it my life. To share it with someone whose love is unending, whose heart is so tender, whose body is so willing to engage in the world. That willingness. That excitement. That lust for life…that we all lose. To be granted access back into that seeing place. That is such a gift. To be new again. With him and through him. To be able to give, and have it received and have it be meaningful. To be able to love, endlessly, unabashedly, unconditionally. To be able to teach. To be able to witness. To be able to listen, to see, to feel. That wildly free perspective of a child. To have my reality knocked on its ass. To be given perspective. To be given something to live for. To get out of my little head and my own ego. My own sense of “accomplishing”. My own timelines and expectations (which only serve to drown a creative spirit). To be given that perspective…that the world is not merely about me. That giving makes the world spin. To be able to serve this great mistress Love who owns my soul. To be able to be in love with someone so small and adoring. To be given all these things. Truly, the greatest job in the world. And I am grateful.


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