It’s taken me the first three days of January to motivate myself into being excited about this new year. This Christmas was so chaotic, I found myself longing for peace and solitude, at least from those other than my immediate family. Now, nothing but the roar of the fire and the tap of the keys fill the room. Occasionally, the dog snores from under the tapestry tablecloth he’s claimed for his nap.
Maybe the quiet has coaxed the truly meaningful things into view. Maybe it’s just the new moon. But January is the beginning, again. I cringed at the thought of traveling that same well-worn path. Banality, or it’s threat, was a foot on my head. But today, I remembered, I have to make it my own. I forget, a lot, that it’s not the destination. It’s how you travel, whether you dance sometimes along the way, what you stop and see and hear. There are miracles unfolding at our feet, buzzing past our ears, sitting still right beside us, running in the hall, firing nerf guns at the t.v..It’s not even a road. It’s one of those books about “Can you find it?”. It’s about seeing, all that which you thought the same, as new. But you have to be still for a moment and listen. Close your eyes and see. Joy isn’t a neon sign. It is a dog, hiding under the tapestry, having a nap.