Rich.
That’s the word that’s been in my head and in my heart for the past few weeks. Jingling around like gold coins in a drawstring pouch.
I’ve felt rich in life. Rich in love. Rich in friends. Rich in my writing life. Rich in everything I need.
I have a weekly routine and friends and my writing and enough special days and events to keep everything interesting.
It’s a rich life.
I think about love and how that makes everything richer. How things seem more special when W’s there. The way I can’t wait for her to get home at night so I can tell her about my day and experience it all over again through her eyes.
Of course, my life isn’t perfect. The house is usually a mess and the cat puked under the dining room table and shouldn’t I be due for a pay increase and when will those damn kids get jobs.
But my life is rich. It’s cheesecake and a hot fudge sundae with extra whipped cream and a $20 bill that I found in an old pair of jeans.
And then last night happens, and I am sad and hurt and broken inside. If you read this blog, you are probably feeling the same way.
Still, I remind myself of the richness of my life. Of love and friends and the way they swirl around me like stardust.
This morning, W tells me everything will be okay and that she loves me.
A friend invites me to a drum circle. Other friends share kind words and blog posts they have found to be soothing and encouraging. A friend who runs a local LGBT group sends an e-mail about working together to protect the rights of those in our community. I will attend the steering committee meeting they are holding on Monday to find out what I can do to help.
W will be home soon. We will have dinner together and watch Luke Cage on Netflix. She’ll fall asleep first. I’ll write and read and then turn in for the night. If I can’t sleep, I’ll settle in close to W and the cats piled up at my feet.
Tomorrow, I’ll try to get out of the house and write in the little coffee shop in town. Maybe I’ll see some of my friends there. I’ll be kind to myself. I’ll be kind to others.
And when things seem hopeless or scary or pointless, I’ll take refuge in my rich life.
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What makes your life rich?
The Flannel Files 
My husband who loves, supports and encourages me in everything I do. My children who also don’t have jobs, but make me laugh and growing into amazing people. All my parents (I’m blessed with six of them) who also love and support me in everything I do. And friends like you who know just the right thing to say to make me believe in myself, in my writing and brighten my day. Thank you!
Right back at ya! We are lucky to have our community of writers encouraging and supporting each other. Our words and stories are needed now more than ever.
A burgeoning queer community right here in my white uptight suburb.
Awesome! So many don’t have that.
New York is always a haven for queers and misfits. Right now I’m making a polish mushroom barley soup. Earlier today I went to my favorite middle-eastern grocery store (Sahadi’s in Brooklyn) today to get dried fruits, nuts, olives, and feta cheese. I guess I’m feeling the need for diversity before the great white chill sets in.
NYC is its own animal, for sure. Watching the protests on social media. Your food choices sound delicious.
My husband, who’s always there with a hug when I need it. My cats who snuggle up and purr me to sleep when worries are keeping me awake. My sister, when no one else will do. Writing and my writer friends who make magic with their words.
We need word magic these days. Words to take us away to fantastical worlds. Words to give voice to what we’re feeling. Words to record the disappointment and anger. Words to leave behind a trail of hope.
My boyfriend, my cat, my family, my friends, my hobbies, my writing as well and my art. The fact I have a roof over my head, food on the table and a bed to sleep at night and clothes to cover my body. Everything I have is what makes my life rich! Thanks you for this post!
Thanks for reading. And sharing parts of your rich life.