It's not about the punctuation
If you’re new to the newsletter, welcome! I usually post/send something on a weekly basis. Sometimes it’s a book or publishing update, sometimes it’s a personal essay on motherhood, life, or love. Today’s piece feels more like a journal entry. Really it’s just a way to exercise my writing muscles, but also a way for me to connect with all of you! I hope you enjoy!
It’s the weekend. 8:21 pm.
I take a deep breath and ask myself if I lived this day the way I wished. What would I have done differently? Did I make the most of it? What am I glad I did?
I woke up with my daughter. And I held her and we stared at our reflections together in the mirror. I looked at her reflection. She looked at her own reflection. I saw a glimmer of love in her eyes. She enjoyed seeing her face. Her expression. She was already a confident soul. And I felt that deeply. As she smiled at herself, I promised to nurture this part of her. The part that loved herself. No one would take that away from her.
I met up with my friend and her daughter. It was more of a work meeting, but I care for them. We are at similar stages in life. We are different in so many ways, but we share important sentiments. Our children are not just friends. They’re explorers united. They speak of each other even when they’re not around each other. And they take turns wanting and not wanting to hug each other.
In an ordinary moment after lunch, I bent over my husband and grazed my lips against his ear. It was a normal minute like the minute before or the minute after, and I shared a truth with him in that normalcy. I told him I loved being his wife. That I loved being married to him. He closed his eyes as he always does when he receives something with care. Then he responded in kind.
My son asked for my husband to do the tuck in tonight. He switches off on who he asks to come down with him. I turned on a show and started to get a head start on cleaning up the kitchen. Then I hit pause. My daughter was already asleep, so I tiptoed to my son’s room and joined my husband and son on the “tractor bed”. We read another page of Calvin and Hobbes, and when we were done with the bedtime routine, my son asked if I would lay with him for five more minutes before the day came to an end. It was then that he put a hand on each of my cheeks and nuzzled my nose as he called me “bunny.”
There were normal weekend things filled in between these moments: Cleaning the coffee machine before deciding if I wanted to use the fancy beans or Folgers. Wiping down our table in the morning while regretting not doing it the night before. Folding laundry with my headphones in. Letting our dog out to relieve himself when he stood at the door. Watering all of my house plants that all sport drooping stems, and limp leaves. Me, putting on a sock only to peel it off my foot when I notice there was a hole the size of a quarter near the ball of my foot. Telling myself I need to really get new socks. Then spending another couple minutes wondering just how many years I’ve had these same socks I bought from Costco.
Yes. Normal, filler things. Necessary things too. Things that take me from one minute to the next. But the mirror with my daughter, a quick morning visit with a friend, a whisper to my husband, and being a bunny at bedtime for my son. I did those things right.
Did I Carpe Diem the day?
No. I didn’t. I don’t think I could Carpe Diem even if it came with naps at this point.
But I had a day with lovely moments. And because tomorrow is never guaranteed, I lay down tonight content. Sad if I don’t wake up tomorrow. If the future is taken. But exhausted in a wonderful way with a handful of moments that will make me miss this life.
I don’t mean to be morbid, but I honestly can’t help it. The anniversary of my husband’s accident looms over us this month. (If you’d like to hear more about the accident that almost took him from us from his perspective, you can read about it here.) And while it brought so much pain along with the healing, the awareness of mortality is another one of its gifts. And it’s a challenge every day to balance living each day as if it’s our last (because one of these days it will be) and simply to live, love, and fucking relax a little.
When life reminds you that it can end at any second. That it can take away the good or take you from the good…It’s hard not to want to make every day a trip to Disneyland afterwards. Make the most of every waking second.
After’s David accident, I tried to do that for some time. Spoiler: It’s not sustainable.
And honestly, those big, bucket list moments aren’t what it’s all about. I mean, it’s great to have the exclamation points show up in our lives. But a book isn’t just about the punctuation. It’s every sentence, one after another, telling a story, that makes a book worth reading. Not just the punchlines.
Some of my warmest, fuzziest memories in life aren’t grand moments. They’re not Instagramable. They’re fucking real. They’re fucking messy, and lazy, and without effort. I might even describe them as mundane or redundant.
As the anniversary of the accident has graced us with its presence…the memories echo in my body of the day David said his goodbyes to me, his I loves yous in sharp, short breaths over a phone call. The memory of the moment I thought I was losing everything.
I honor the time spent since he made it through. Yes, since the accident there’s been his graduation, my promotion, Disneyland, weekend vacations, and what not.
But more so, I honor the every-day life I’ve been given with him since I thought I might lose him:
The lazy days we’ve had sitting on the couch, eating leftovers, and watching a show. The walks around our neighborhood as we notice the little changes to the houses we pass by—toddler on bike, baby in stroller, complete with routine stops to observe the snail shells we might find in the damp soil of our neighbor’s front yard. The hot coffee poured in mismatched mugs and sipped cold after tending to the kids took longer than expected. The folding laundry together or repotting of plants. The reorganizing all of the shit we have in our garage. Trying to one-up each other by out engineering our train tracks we build with our toddler. Tummy time with our baby, impromptu dance parties, grocery store adventures…
Maybe I could get behind Carpe Diem…with naps, of course.
But honestly, I don’t think it’s about seizing this day. I don’t need to remind myself this may be our last day together — come what may. I’m not the religious type, but there’s no universe where forever isn’t in our cards anyway.
So here’s to beyond seizing the day. Here’s to ending each day with the gratitude of even having a today, not the fear of not being given a tomorrow. Here’s to simple things today done with intention, thoughtfulness, and of course, love.