Do you know that word game, Boggle? It involves dice-like cubes that have letters instead of numbers; You shake them up in a domed plastic container, then each die settles into its own little slot before you try to make words from contiguous letters.
My brain is a Boggle game.
The dice tumbling around under the plastic-domed lid of my skull are the dinner plans and shopping lists, the work deadlines and invoices, the nagging notion that my bike chain needs tightening and the cell phone bill must be paid by Friday. There’s the pull of the daily news, all Ferguson and U-Va rape, Republican Congress, White House Christmas tree, new committees in the Maryland legislature. The cat is out of cat food, the porch needs organizing, and did the dishwasher run last night?
Throw in a few hormonal curve balls (thanks, menopause), and, well, it’s jangled in there.
And then something happens and all the little die settle into place. It’s as if my spinning molecules finally align.
This weekend, with holiday family and friends and events, I juggled two pies one day, and four pies another. I roasted a turkey and made sure there were enough dishes and forks and drinking glasses for 30 people coming and going through the house. I ran the dishwasher twice in 12 hours, unheard of when it’s just the two of us at home. I counted towels and comforters, found keys for people to come and go, and supplied coffee and orange juice and eggs.
I love this.
But also, it’s a lot.
So it wasn’t until I went for a run in the sunny, cold afternoon that I could see through the clamor and feel the deep satisfaction at its core. Everything was in its place, exactly as it was meant to be.
Family. Friends. Abundance. And a home big enough to welcome it all.
Meaningful work, and enough of it to make a living. New running shoes—and the good health that allows me to use them. A beautiful park to run through.
And so much love.
My brain may be a Boggle game, but this Thanksgiving, I am so grateful, for every one of those tumbling dice.