I cannot begin to count how many times I’ve been told I need to write. Write my story, share my thoughts, even if only to myself, write down my goals in life, write a book, yadda yadda. Or as one of my all-time favorite actors, Yul Brenner, famously said: “..etcetera etcetera”. For those of you thinking to yourself: “huh?”, that would be from The King & I starring Yul and the always wonderful Deborah Kerr. One of the few Rodgers & Hammerstein musicals that , not only can I watch without needing a puke bowl nearby for relief from the inevitable effects of their over-the-top, campy, eye-roll inducing songwriting, but actually love with a deep, nostalgic passion. Oh, trust me, the songwriting is just as cheesy as any of their other works and there are a number of songs where I’d rather stab ice picks into my eardrums than listen to. Which, I’m sure, makes you think “you’ve thought of suffering through a very painful, self-inflicted deafening, yet you LOVE this movie?” Yes, yes I do. The reason, pure and simple, is the talented, nay captivating, Yul Brenner. But, I digress.
The reason I have never actually followed the advice and, occasionally, outright demands from those I know and love isn’t because of my innate rebelliousness (honest!). Nor is it because of a shortage of things to write about. It’s simply because I cannot write. I have hundreds upon hundreds of ideas, thoughts and stories floating around in my better than average sized brain (Ha! Almost kept a straight face on that one!). It’s getting them down on paper in a cohesive, readable manner that always proves to be a problem. In fact, these two paragraphs have taken me well over 30 minutes to jot down. Yeah, I’m not kidding. It’s like my brain gets ahead of my hands. They just simply can’t keep up with my over-active thought process. I hear it in my head and it’s awesome! It even makes me chuckle to myself quite often. I get funny looks from strangers. Hell, even the people who know me look at me like “wtf?” more often than I care to admit. But I don’t care. I’m entertained. And… it took me another 15 minutes just to spit those last three sentences out. See? Even when I’m trying to describe my brain getting ahead of itself as the reason I can’t write, it goes and gets ahead of itself! (A-head of itself… oh that’s funny! Bring on the weird looks.) Why do I struggle? I have issues, that’s why!
So I’ve now hijacked the laptop for as long as she’ll allow me to. Which means of course I may get two or three sentences and then she’ll decide that it’s her turn again which will royally piss me off but since it’s her laptop and her document for that matter I can hardly complain, much less get majestically irritated… BREATHE!
Ok, so the only reason I started typing here is because I’m sitting in Grounds for Coffee next to the love of my life, and whiling away the hours while her van gets fixed. I can scarce conceive of a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon. There is no pressure to go anywhere, since our transportation is kaput, as the kiddies say, and no need to do anything but just BE. Here and now. In the moment. Life is full of these unexpectedly eclectically romantic moments and I am eternally grateful.
She’s just gone up to the barista to ask why the advertised “free wireless internet” isn’t working, which means that I only have a few moments remaining of adding my stream-of-consciousness attempt at silly humor to this.
But I know that you will save this and read it from time to time, so burn these words into that fine and creative mind of yours: WRITE! Please? Your spoken words captivate me. Your written words have done as much, and methinks it quite possible that if thou wouldst only investify (that was what a call Shakespeare-Bush wordeology) a measure of time each day to reduce thy humorous rantings and ramblings to printed page the world would be a better place, sort of like MY world has become a better place.
I love thee Cara Marie.
So, that would be Don. My forever love. I let him read what I wrote (considering he is the primary inspiration behind this little exercise) and he steals my laptop! The audacity! He’s lucky I love him. Actually… I think it’s funny that he thinks he’s the lucky one. That’s MY title. I mean, hello?? Did you read what he wrote? How could I possibly think I wasn’t the luckiest person alive?
He couldn’t be more right how wonderful this Saturday afternoon is. Who knew sitting for hours on end waiting for a vehicle to be fixed, knowing it’s going to put a dent in the pocketbook, could be so downright fulfilling? I’ve never been so content in my life. It’s happiness. Pure happiness. I can say without a shred of doubt that I have never known the true meaning of that word. Not to its fullest extent. That’s not to say I haven’t had wonderful or even miraculous moments. I have two beautiful children. What kind of mother would I be if I believed that was anything less than miraculous? But true happiness? No, I have not been acquainted with that until very recently. See, happiness is more than just “moments” and, contrary to popular theory, it’s not a state of mind. It’s a state of being. Just being. It’s when you can sit in a coffee shop where the advertised WIFI won’t work, after getting up at 5am to prepare for a yard sale with only a few hours of sleep under your belt because you were up late into the night cleaning out a garage (hence the yard sale), then sitting for hours on your front lawn actually doing the yard sale, then driving down 3300 South in Salt Lake City scared out of your mind that your vehicle will quit on you any second on your way to the shop, then sitting for a couple of hours in said coffee shop and just… be. It’s also when you get the phone call informing you your vehicle is ready just as you’ve figured out the reason for the non-connectivity of aforementioned WIFI was simply because the wireless capability was turned off on your laptop and you can just shake your head and laugh. It’s having your soulmate at your side laughing at him nearly knocking over a table simply by placing his phone on it. It’s the little things that make you go “mmmm”. That’s peace. That’s contentment. That’s love. And all that, my friends, is happiness.
And that dear readers, is all the proof you should ever need that a) Cara CAN write, and b) Don is indeed the lucky one. I need say no more.
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