It’s The Little Things.

I just got back from a nice walk with Murph. I’m learning these streets; new routes.

Brother and I had such a routine with B … we still do, the couple times a week I make it a point to get over there and walk with them. Knowing how long which loop takes and where to extend, where to cut short on tired days, which streets to take to get to Flub’s quicker  in spring and summer for icecream {that’s a must know}.

While I’m missing our walks, I’m also appreciating the opportunity to discover a new neighborhood. And Murph. That Murphy, he just sucks you in. Those big wide eyes. His loving, gentle expressions.

I love how he curls up next to me. Every night, without fail.  I call to him, anticipating the moment he jumps up, turns around in three circles and plops down next to me. Sigh. Exhale. Sleep.

Just look at that face. Gets me each time, People.

As we were walking, both of us soaking in the warm sun … well, warm for February. I’ll take low 40s this time of year, which really does feel pretty warm when walking at a fast place. I was reminded, yet again, at how critical movement and fresh air is.

How much better, and just how much happier I feel. It’s such a life affirming thing … getting out in your environment to walk. To see.

It recharges me; re-minds me. This afternoon, I ran into a woman with her young daughter, both on bikes. We’ve frequently crossed paths at this exact intersection, which we laughed about.

She commented on what a beautiful day it was, how important it was for her to be out, feeling the sun and breathing in the air. Right on, sister, I feel you, is what I kept thinking.

As they started to pedal off, she said, “life really is about enjoying the little things, isn’t it?”. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Our brief exchange left me feeling hopeful and connected … it can be easy to fall into the trap of disconnection … feeling separate. Our own little islands.

But we’re not. Inexplicably, we are connected.

One of my favorite book series, The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency, which has possibly my fave book character of all time — Mma Ramotswe {freaking rocks my world and has me wanting to be a traditionally built African lady, who eats too much pumpkin}, refers to everyone as Sister and Brother.

Mma always preaches that we are all each other’s lost brothers and sisters and we must remember this, particularly when dealing with difficult people.

Since reading that first book, I’ve practiced this … strangers not as strangers but as my own brother, my own sister, I am dealing with.

It’s much easier this way. The walls come down. There can be no illusion of separation. We deal with people differently then. It’s less harsh, more love, more forgiveness.

Anything that promotes those things has to be a good thing, right?

Together. Not Separate. This thing is not random. It’s the little things, and in these little things we remember we are each other’s keepers.

 

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