At the park today I noticed an attractive young family. The mother was stylishly dressed with an attractive coat and scarf. She was perfectly coiffed with a cute short hair-do. Her kids were adorable--the toddler boy riding a fun retro tricycle and the baby packed into the coolest stroller ever.
When I looked down at myself, I realized I had carrot spit-up down the front of my shirt and my stretched out yoga pants. I contemplated my face free of any make-up and my ponytail with the strands of hair being held in by at least 10 bobby pins, and I sighed. I thought to myself, "Self, when I grow up I want to be like that mom."
About five minutes later, I heard the mom yelling at her toddler in not a very nice way. Even though she had a most impressive British accent, it didn't cover the frustration she was taking out on her little boy.
So I said to myself, "Self, maybe I should rethink that goal."
I've been thinking about priorities a lot lately. About how some of mine are good, and some of them are kind of messed. I've thought a lot about a poem that my mom gave to me several years ago:
"To live content with small means;
to seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion;
to be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich;
to study hard, think quietly,
talk gently, act frankly;
to listen to stars and birds,
to babes and sages, with open heart;
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely,
await occasions, hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual,
unbidden and unconscious,
grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony."
--William Henry Channing
Sometimes I have to re-read this poem to be reminded how I want to shape my character. I've got a lot to work on.
Lindsay is crying. Time to go work on some priorities.