This probably is the farthest removed from a poem that I’ve gone ahead and used so far. It’s something that came to mind when I was writing about my Dad and thinking about the things I didn’t do or say while I had the chance. To me, if you live by the sentiments below, it is poetry.
But it’s hard, isn’t it? When there’s always so much to do. When life is so fast paced. When your family lives far away and it’s hard to travel because of children, pets or livestock (sorry if I insult anyone by grouping those all together); lack of vacation time; and/or lack of money.
But there are plenty of times that you can live with honest and open expression; with attentiveness, appreciation, and joy. I keep telling myself to start small and branch out to the big stuff. I hear that living this way gets easier as you face whatever variation of resistance you are facing. I’d love to find out if that’s true.