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Somewhere between dreaming big and living in small, ordinary moments, I am lost without a compass. There are fleeting thoughts of huts suspended over water in Bora Bora and jeweled palaces in Jaipur and a horizon of tulips in Amsterdam. There are visions of grand stages and published poems and changing lives in profound and important ways.

And yet, there is now which holds none of those things, and perhaps real life will never fill out those imaginary lines with strokes of true color.

Now is the routine of wake up and make breakfast and make lunch and race kids out the door and drive to school and blow hurried kisses and drive to the same coffee shop where the same guy who knows my name and my everyday order makes my iced mocha. And work and patients and picking up children and activities and homework and no clue what to make for dinner and reading bedtime stories and checked out runs on the treadmill and scribbling in the margins of journals and scattered sleepy meditation and falling into bed before doing it all again.

Which is more glorious? Which is more real?

Perhaps this daily routine of regular life is just as beautiful because it is true, true in ways that I can touch and hold while big dreams promise to wait. And in the meanwhile, I search for ordinary love and glimpses of magic in my coffee and words and in four warm bodies within the four walls of home. Living and breathing in the sacred space called Now, again and again and again until another moment calls my name.


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