So, yesterday someone said, “What are your hopes and dreams?” I had to pause. For a gal who spends so much time in her own head, I was surprised that it took me so long to come up with an answer. Which was lengthy. But in the end, not that shocking, because I keep exploring the same themes. That is to say, I recognized myself yet again in my answers.

To do worthy work. To have my children know that they are loved. To read both deeply and widely. To pour myself into a good man (or two). To live in a tiny cabin in the woods. To write. To have chickens, and goats, and a dog.

To be love. No typo.

To be kind.

To die well.

To feel safe.

To feel competent.

(and then because I am an inveterate smart-ass who too often uses humor to diffuse heaviness) To find the actual best crabcake in Maryland.

Simple. What I am saying here, what I always say in different words is: I want to live a simple life, with fewer things and more joy. So this morning, I looked at all my bookshelves and pulled out some stuff I knew I would never make time to read, plus some duplicates. And I put a couple of unopened puzzles in the box for Goodwill. And I am thinking that I am not done for the day. I think that my actual goal for the day is the elimination of a bookcase. And maybe some craft supplies that I will never use. And possibly a few more items of clothing. Because I can’t live simply in this much visual clutter, and I’ve been screaming simplicity to myself for a very long time.

Somehow, I’ve managed to get to a place where all the options I have for what to do/read/wear feel like pressure in my chest. All these options feel like guilt. Oh. That last sentence surprised me. Was not expecting that. Sometimes my truth just reaches out and bops me on the head.