I am paralyzed by possibility. I reflect on my day and try to sort through the moments fighting to etch themselves onto my heart, each desperately vying for my attention with the urgent whisper, remember this. How do I choose which to keep? How do I let any of them slip away?
The smile my middle daughter gave herself in the mirror this morning - part self conscious, part pleased - as she takes one step further out of childhood and into adolescence.
The feel of my son, half asleep, as I hold him on my lap while he tries to rouse from his nap, one arm reaching to pull mine closer around him, his soft breath warm on my shoulder, the weight of him heavy and real enough to crush my heart.
The easy banter with my oldest, the child who didn't have to be mine but chose to love me anyway, as we share the excitement of discovering that the red shoes she convinced me to order last week will be delivered tomorrow.
The look my husband gives me when I walk into the room.
Watching my sister, the high-level executive, walking barefoot across the trading floor.
The taste of spaghetti that we eat gathered around the table that once belonged to my grandmother.
Which to choose? How do you capture a life? I started a journal because of a nagging feeling that I wasn't paying enough attention, yet now I find that I was simply overwhelmed by trying to pay too much.
So in the end, I think it all boils down to this:
Life is good.