She is happy this way, leaning so far out and over the pot that her arms might soon grace the windowsill below. And Robbie examined this succulent of ours and admired it and said, Actually, I think it's supposed to look like this.
How very often do I need to say that about my own life. Lately I've been getting all caught up in wanting some things so badly that I forget. Forget to look at the shape of my life, the texture and weight of it, the leaning of it this way or another at any given moment. To examine it and admire it and say, Actually, I think it's supposed to look like this.