My life is everything already.

My throat is sore and scratchy and the muscles in my chest and back ache from so much coughing. My whole body feels fatigued, in fact, and while my sinuses are definitely clearer, I am sniffling every few minutes or so.

This is the tail end of the cold, thank goodness. I have the ability to weather a cold and feel like I'm dying, to just feel utterly bleak and miserable throughout the duration. But today is the day of clouds parting, of doors opening, of light streaming through windows. I feel more motivated than I have in all of a week. Who knows, maybe I'll clean something at the house today. Maaaybe.

It helps that yesterday was a day of rescuing snapping turtles from a busy road, cleaning up the kitchen, hot dogs and burgers on the grill, fresh mango, flawless bedtimes, and later, tiramisu and wine and good season finales on TV. Yesterday was also the day that I finally finished The Book Thief, and it is seriously the best thing I have read in forever. The end had me sobbing. Such a beautifully told story.

Plus, on Saturday I rediscovered Kimya Dawson's album, Alphabutt, more specifically the song "Happy Home (Keep on Writing)" and I listen to the "just make sure your life's exciting" refrain at the end and it makes me think of my girls. It fills my chest with that expansive sense of hope and possibility. Their lives can be anything. Why do we grow up and stop thinking that? That our own lives can be anything? My own life can be ANYTHING. Say it with me: My life can be ANYTHING.

Maybe it's better to think: My life is everything already. Say that, and wrap your arms around it and squeeze it hard before flinging it up into the sky and watching to see where it lands.