Well, I say life wounds, life circumstances and socialization be damned. At least be damned when you weed your way into the soil that is my life and disrupt it, poison it. I will till my own soil.

All the wounds, circumstances and socialization patterns do not deserve to rob us of remembering to live, and giving ourselves permission to do exactly that. No, things will not always go the way would like, or work out the way we hope, but sometimes, more than you might think, they will.

If you never give yourself permission to live, you’ll never find and experience the beauty and glory of life, no matter how big or small, the latter two notions defined solely by the eye of the beholder. For example, big to me is watching Goldfinches, Black Capped Chickadees, and Purple Finches on my bird feeder, or rabbits scamper about my back yard early in the morning. Thunderstorms are big too. They make me turn off all house sounds and crack open windows because I don’t want to miss a moment of the enchanting forest of sound. Small is the kind of car I drive or whoever the hell made and designed the clothes I’m wearing. I’m grateful for the car and the clothes, but they don’t, for me anyway, compare to the wonder of the birds and thunderstorms just mentioned.

I don’t know what the big and small glorious moments of life are for you. I do know you deserve them, even if you think you do not. So, while I’m tilling the soil of my life, I hope you do the same for yours. Remember to live. Wonders await you, if you give yourself permission to live.
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