It’s a Sunday afternoon. I’m sitting in the backyard holding hands with John, the baby is toddling around, shouting at planes and our chickens are scratching around in the grass. That’s when it hits me, my dream life has become my actual life.
Maybe it’s because loving what’s right in front of me has been on my mind since finishing Loving My Actual Life, but as I’m sitting here I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
When I dreamt about my future in college, this is what I had in mind. A plot of land to call my own, a gaggle (or one) of kids underfoot, twinkle lights hanging in the trees, and fresh food at my fingertips. To quote my confidant, T Swift, today was a fairy tale.
In a world of chaos and hatred, I think all I can do is love on those closest to me, and pray. Today, a prayer of gratitude, of humbly wondering what mercy brought me this life, when all to easily it could’ve been filled with fear and death. How did we get here? Afraid to leave our home for threat of terror, of mass killings, riots, or misplaced judgements. And now I’ve gotten off topic, funny how your mind takes an unmarked trail when you give it time to wander. This was supposed to be an essay on dreams and I’ve gotten lost. Oh, well; the baby is asking for more o’s so I guess I’ll leave you with that abrupt ending and few snapshots of my dream backyard.