“The mountains are calling and I must go.” (If you’re from Colorado, you understand.)
Anyway, they’ve been calling my name, so two mornings ago, I got up and decided to obey. It went something like this.
Feed dog. Check.
Water garden. Check.
Grab mask. Check.
Vacuum living room first. Um, no.
Hit the road by 8:35 a.m. Check.
Arrive at trailhead 10:22 a.m. Check.
Hike in paradise. Check.
Worry about election. What election?
Eat a late lunch at the Log Cabin Café in indescribably cute mountain town. Check.
Count my blessings. Check.
Head home with a full heart. Check. Check. CHECK.
Sometimes, one just needs a reboot. In the past, I might have thought blogging about a “day off” to be lame, but now I think it’s rather brilliant. I needed to take a break, even for a few hours, to remember the joie de vivre. This year has taken a toll on all of us. Feeling the pain seems to come more quickly than feeling the joy.
It’s said that Corrie Ten Boom’s sister would thank God for the fleas in their concentration camp barracks because those fleas were so bad, they kept the guards away. Most likely, our joy is a bit easier to find than that, but what a lesson. She looked for the blessings.
So I’m making a little pact with myself, to name a little piece of joie de vivre every day. To look for the blessings.
And to be thankful for them.