I suppose I am about like your average American girl. I stay away from flag burning, butter churning, and unethically made earnings. I prefer to spend my days dreaming of bottomless cups of coffee and words of wisdom asserted by Ghandi. Fairy tales tend to be a reoccurring frontrunner in my mind. Make-believe stories are my favorite kind. I cannot go to Barnes and Noble without stopping by children’s section to peruse those precious collections. Unfortunately, the majority of such stories present the world as a simple reflection of perfection, when, in fact, there is a huge disconnection.
Life is hard and leaves many people scarred. Challenging as it may be, every individual’s life holds special, special memories -- spelling bees, climbing trees, swimming in seas, drinking green tea, defying the bourgeoisie, changing marquees, earning a degree, marrying a man named McGhee, becoming a retiree, joining the AARP, the list goes on. The paths one may take in life are numerous. I hope mine is humorous. More than that, however, I hope to love others with all my heart and impart upon the world a new work of art. I don’t mean the kind of art that includes paper and paint but an art of living that brings joy to the weary and faint.
Whatever that may entail, I do not know. I may not live in a fancy chateau or be on a game show or write as eloquently as Theoreau, but upon every person I meet, I hope to bestow a kind of love that overflows. Love covers a multitude of things. It is a better gift than any ring or even a bird that may sing. If only the world could cohesively choose to make love its standard of living, there would be much more forgiving and much more thanksgiving.