“The search is the meaning, the search for beauty, love, kindness and restoration in this difficult, wired and often alien modern world. The miracle is that we are here, that no matter how undone we’ve been the night before, we wake up every morning and are still here. It is phenomenal just to be.” — Anne Lamott, Stitches
My habit is to gravitate and linger in sadness. I often pay attention to what is broken. In the last few weeks, in very odd moments, I’ve blurted out, “I just miss my Dad.” This is a part of my perpetual record. Perhaps my recent visit to Dallas triggered a need to hear his voice. I know this feeling of missing him is not one that will every go away.
But it isn’t just missing my father that occupies my days. It is also what is missing in other parts of my life. The two words, “not enough,” raise their hands in unison. Reaching high in the sky, I survey the landscape of my life and ask, “Why is it not enough?” The secret is earth-shattering. Much of my life is filled with so much that is enough. The ability to be here. To write. To drink coffee. To hug my daughter. To call my mother. To hold my husband’s hand. To laugh with my sister. I surveyed my weekend this morning. And I recounted so many moments that I enjoyed, despite the brokeness in the world.
We celebrated my husband’s birthday all week (not because he love birthdays, but because I do). We capped off his birthday by going to dinner and when we returned our babysitter and daughter baked him a birthday cake surprise. Other moments centered around a quick trip to the bookstore, wrapping presents, and an early morning run on Sunday. The three of us snuggled in bed and read books and by taking an afternoon nap. During the weekend, there were visits to not one, but three newborn babies in our world. Breathing in the air of a newborn’s space, automatically reminds you of the joy in just being, one breath at a time. The day ended with my daughter and husband doing yoga.
As I perused pictures this morning and read Lamott’s quote, this picture of my daughter jumping on the beach magnifies the rejoicing we all should participate in everyday. Just to be. It is phenomenal.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
What a great picture! I love it!
It’s hard missing the ones we love and to linger in the sadness.
I hope you find peace and I hope that the days become enough and wonderful. xo
Happy Birthday to your husband! I wish him many many more!
It truly is!!
Love the photograph! Yes, just be-it surely is phenomenal.
Loss is difficult. It helps me to focus not on my father’s absence now, but on the wonderful influence he had on my life and I feel blessed to have had him. Not to say that some days I’m not sad, but focusing my thoughts helps me get back into the now.
Your daughter is so photogenic. She looks beautiful in every picture, and I especially love this one. It is so fitting for the quote.
Just be…I always wanted to be the kind of person that can “just be”. I don’t think I am wired that way. But I am thankful that I am here every day, even if I am not rejoicing and celebrating it. Of course, I do that some days. I don’t think I should jump, though 🙂
I love this photo – the colors, the softness, and the exuberance.
I think I can relate, Rudri. So many times I’ve looked at my life and known that nothing is missing, and yet something feels like it is, something that keeps me at that 50% mark between joy and sadness. I’m better now, having reached a kind of bottom several weeks ago. Maybe we feel this in particular because we’ve gone from a very fast paced, driven life to something that is more tranquil and more “internal,” and it takes time to accept and embrace it. And you have suffered a profound loss in losing your father, so your emotions are understandable.
This is a lovely matter of truly enriches our lives. Sadly, many of us are in such a hurry – often of necessity – it’s easy to gloss over the precious quality in seeing a newborn (or three!), in a child’s smile, in celebrating a birthday for a week – for fun!
As for the sadness, those of us who have lost someone we love will feel it at odd moments, don’t you think? I know that I miss my own father terribly at certain times, my mother at others, but when I see something in my elder son that is so remarkably a look that is like my dad, along with a flash of sadness, there’s great pleasure in the way the generations carry on.