The weight was there when I opened my eyes. Mundane. Usual. Accepted.
The kids fought and bickered and I responded. The weight riding low on my shoulders. So low I sink onto the bottom step. Children piling around me.
How did we get here? It’s not a terrible place to be, but it’s not the dream either. When did it become okay to be okay with this? With these attitudes and these emotions? When did I settle for this?
The sent of a gift from a friend threads through the room. A gentle, soothing reminder of someone’s thought and care. The sented oil risking up the reeds, like incense without the smoke. The raised offering of kindness from someone thinking of us.
And not of themselves.
My lungs breath in faint sent of joy. Weight shifts, lifts. In a moment of heaviness, weary of the dailiness, rubbed raw from friction of growing, jostling, illuminating little lives all clamoring for more – more than I have… I am drawn in by kindness.
This moment of transferring thought from self to someone else. Transforming mundane to repeated purpose. Usual to consistent desire. Kindness is an easy act of self-sacrifice. An easy stepping stone from mundane to content, from usual to grateful, from accepted to transformed.
When we live our days for ourselves we walk with heavy chains weighted down by infringements of those we live around. When we live for others we live free of the burden it is to be infringed upon.
The sweet sent of kindness gently reminds me of what if feels like to be thought of.
Reminds me of purpose. Of where to go from here.