Love. Good grief. I've been pummeled by it. Inspired by it. Addicted to it. Twitterpated. Disappointed. And overcome with awe. As have, I'd wager, many of us.
And, regardless of the agony, here's what I've decided.
- Love is that moment when he, who HATES (and I mean HATES) cold water, wades barefoot into the Oregon ocean in search of sand dollars. Repeatedly. Because he knows I love them.
- It's etched on the faces of my family when they watched me battle cancer.
- It's in the moment my feline knows exactly when to curl.
- When my brother, when we were five, used a screwdriver to chip away sheet-rock. (Working quietly to tunnel through the wall that separated our bedrooms.)
- When a friend suddenly declares that Disneyland is the perfect birthday destination.
- When he knows that, yes, I'll take mustard with that.
And in the million bits of kindness that surround our everyday. And these things? Are the ones I keep in my pockets. Hoping they spill over, warming the sidewalks—and our footsteps—in hope.