The
Root
Under
Sm(all)
Things
Without it.
We’re lost.
We're always enough...
He sees me.
Not the various roles I take on.
Not my profession.
Nor my title.
He senses me.
And the energy I carry.
Freedom to be.
Nothing to do.
We’re always enough.
Lightbulb...
A lightbulb moment without fanfare.
A feeling with an endless shelf life...
Last night.
We sat on the couch.
We watched Moneyball.
He loves baseball.
He loves the Athletics.
His love for the game rekindled mine.
I played when I was his age.
And now I watch him.
I drive him to practice.
To games.
To anything that fuels his love for it.
We play wiffle ball in the backyard.
We play catch.
He buys, sells and trades baseball cards.
He’s a well of endless stats.
And right now,
For the moment,
There’s something there.
For him.
For me.
A thread.
Tethering our hearts.
A feeling with an endless shelf life.
Happy Easter...
I was raised Lutheran.
She was raised Buddhist.
Neither of us formally practice anything.
Together, we've raised our kids to be open.
They'll decide what speaks to them.
Sara had one request this holiday weekend.
'Can we please go to temple to celebrate Cambodian New Year?'
So we did.
And it felt like home.
Whatever you celebrate...
...and whoever you celebrate with...
Be kind,
Disruptive,
and generous.
Let the wild in.