One of my biggest weaknesses is making comparisons until I feel bad about myself. I really think Facebook makes this way too easy, but I do it with so many things, such as where I want to live and what career I want to have someday. This makes it so hard to feel good about where I am, no matter where I am, because the grass is always greener on the other side.
Something I'm trying to remember is that, rather than making comparisons and searching for that perfect location/career/life, it's so much more fulfilling and meaningful to look for the good, and also to nourish the good in your life. There's beauty in most things if we look deep enough.
Lately, I'm noticing the beauty of spring rains, of how good it feels to cozy up when the weather is blustery, of cherry blossoms sprinkling pink and white petals on the ground, of catching glimpses of great blue herons and even a seal momentarily peeking out of the water, of the sense of renewed love and joy in relationships.
The old man walked slowly along the beach,
Stiff toes in sand, scanning the shore for seashells.
Finding half of a manila clam, he picked it up,
Tracing the ribbed skin with his thumb.
The smell of the sea blowing in the wind,
He closed his eyes, and began to cry.
He remembered how he used to collect
Shells for her, how he used to scatter
Them around the house, tucked them in
Nooks and crannies for her to find,
Paired with a love note underneath:
Your love will be safe with me.
He cried harder now, remembering how
Life took hold, and how the shells became
Less and less, how the paper became barren
Of words, how her face with the expectant look
Of surprise withered with age. How much
He wished he could give her a shell now, slip it
Under her pillow, wake her up to the morning sun,
Kiss her, and let her know that he was the luckiest man alive.
His tears staining his lips with salt, he peered out
At the ocean, the cold gray-blue of the Puget Sound.
I hope you know that I never stopped loving you;
I only ever loved you more.
Throwing the shell into the water, he hoped she could hear him,
Would wake from her eternal slumber
And forgive him, face filled with joyful surprise,
Realizing that all along she was loved
More than she could have ever known.
We walk, basking in the early signs of spring:
The sunlight touching the tops of mountains,
Turning the snow shades of orange and pink.
The Japanese apricot and cherry blossom trees
Beginning to bloom, buds begging to unfold.
The cormorant birds streaking the sky
With their sleek, black bodies and long beaks.
Our eyes, opening in childlike wonder,
As we look for life and rejoice, together.
