I think, with how life and its troubles are self-seen, that it is important to remind ourselves (when able) of the easy joys we can find without looking.
It’s a quest to snatch — if we don’t take, we don’t have.
Misery is free.
A tiny snippet of joy is so easily missed.
What would you rather?
Fortunately, the way my mind was wound this weekend, I was in the mood to snatch.
The kid weaved his usual magic — he has this way of regaling tales like I’m the only one he’s told, instantly making me feel special.
I can live with this.
I don’t need any more.
And then, quite randomly, I found the beauticians next door throwing a hen party and I ended up a couple of Presecco’s to the wind.
Actually, a bottle and a half of Presecco and a jägerbomb to the wind, but who’s sailing?
And then on Sunday, after a steep shortcut up a hill that nearly killed me, the heavens opened and we all got soaked to the bone.
We jumped in puddles, got splashed by cars…
I find, sometimes, with how life makes me want to try — with how I then try to try my best and seem to fail — I end up wondering why I try in the first place.
Why do I care?
And then a six year old tells me a tale he’s told no-one else (except the previous people, of course), and then there’s a random jägerbomb with my name on it, and then the heavens open and we all get soaked, and I realise why I try.
I try because I care.
I care because I love.
I love because I’m me.
This weekend chose to remind me that I’m content doing all this naturally, no conditions needed.
While sometimes the gratitude might sting like piss in the eye, I’d rather urine-soaked vision over any other existence.
I’d rather try.