An absolute bean of a girlfriend gave me a book for my birthday last year (September 28 for those planning gifts ahead) titled, 1,001 Ways to Live in the Moment. Truth is, I don’t care for the self-help section of the bookstore. Much like the maze of simple tales that is Who Moved My Cheese?, it’s mostly stuff you already know. But this was special, this fat little book (nearly 400 pages) of wisdom and insights and meditations about the everyday joys found in life.
Best of all she read the book front to back, writing notes meant just for me on page after page, more than I can count. She even clipped some entries with the most fantastical tiny metal paperclips.
The book sat on my nightstand for a while, now it’s on my desk and each morning I crack open the soft paper spine and read a bit. Not even pages but a spattering of vowels and consonants mixed together just right, the perfect blend of sweet and savory. It’s like a call from a best pal that helps clear some of the daily dread of a project deadline, trepidation about another hard and sore workout. Reminders that round out a sometimes sharp edge of lonely, words that help make sense of it. Today I happened upon:
"There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
A-to-the-men, tingly Anais Nin.
A good gift.