Once, years and years ago, when I was feeling sad for most of the minutes of all the time, I tried to write in my journal the good things, and only the good things, that had happened in my day.
It had become very easy to only see the Sad and the Difficult and the Impossible to Overcome. But by writing even just a few good things, I could hold on to them, hold them fairly close, and tell myself that more were to come.
Then life got better, and I got out of the habit of writing down my good things. But this past year, I've found I've been thinking of them again—at the end of a busy day, just mulling over them and smiling inside. Like, Yeah, that was a good moment, and Oh, that one too. That was lovely. And that one over there, yep, that sure was Fine.
And I talk of them to my kids if they are uncertain about the night and the hollowness of sleep. We find the Fine things the day had, and tuck them in—under the blanket, by the pillow, near small, sweet heads.
It feels so lovely, finding the good, Fine things. They have warmth, you know. They actually carry warmth, like rocks baked on beach sand and put in your pocket. They keep you… Safe. Together. Well.
I list my weekend's Fine things, the things that kept me warm:
My son's percussion workshop. When I went to pick him up from the workshop, he was so absorbed in his playing he barely recognised me. My son, in his element.
Friends. My children's and my own. Laughter. Kindness. Generosity. Understanding. Connection.
My kids' sleepover at the house of wonderful friends.
Seeing my children the next morning. They were still in their pyjamas at midday, happy, and so content.
Hearing that my daughter smiled and chatted without hesitation or shyness to people while I wasn't there.
The endlessness of my kids' joy. The little cat school my daughter and her friends built at 10pm tonight, still going, still going—even after 34 hours together—just one more minute, please. My daughter saying just before sleep, "That was fun. That was so much fun."
My date with my husband that went for over 19 hours. Dinner, drinks, movie, talking, talking, talking, a snatch of sleep, then a long bike ride after breakfast, riding past the water, sun shining, being together.
Gifts. The gift of time with my husband. The gift of help and friendship. Thank you.
A clock ticking. Pets asleep around me. The dog snoring. House quiet.