I am the sum of my days. Each week’s worth of minutes reflect in my mirror every Sunday morning. I wear my heart on my face, it seems, and looking back over the week I know where my heart has been. Sunday’s face might need an extra splash of water.
Because I left it all out there on life’s playing field this week. Even though I’m exhausted, I feel inspired. This is the way my life should be lived. Beginning and ending each day a little breathless and sweaty because I’ve been fully engaged in all the minutes between my feet hitting the floor in the morning and tucking back under the covers at night.
Anticipation. A little fear. Some small amount of euphoria. The usual worry. Pride. Satisfaction. Contentment. A wee amount of regret. And, of course, hope.
It takes all kinds of focus to live my life this way – one minute, conversation, and task at a time. To see the people instead of the projects. I didn’t keep all the balls in the air this week. And what’s really best of all: I didn’t even try.
Half begun was good enough, and I refused to measure myself by the list of what got done or didn’t. The earth will rotate around one more time with or without crossing all the to-dos off of the list. Each minute comes, it goes, and I dignify it by paying the full respect of my attention.
I’m happy to greet the woman looking back at me in this morning’s mirror. She and I meet, eye-to-eye, heart-to-heart, and care worn face-to-face. I know she has piles of paper all over her desk and she knows I didn’t wash yesterday’s dinner dishes.
And we love each other anyway.