We're both making something that lasts.  

 -- That's what he said to me when I was dwelling on our vastly different career paths and he instead saw infinite similarity. 

The cursor in this text box blinked for a good long while before I started typing this sentence. Of late, I've been dragging myself to my blog space-- wanting to write but having nothing to say,  thinking that I might not have anything worth saying to add to this blog, this internet, this world. Gosh, I hope not.

I  get in this funk sometimes-- you'd think I would abandon the blog. But alas, I cannot. And so here I am, saying something that's really nothing about nothing just because I don't want the blog to die. It's hilarious that even though it's writing that I'm studying day-by-day, I stare at that blinking cursor and with its pulse it swipes everything worth saying out of my brain.

And so, I leave you with tonight's dinner. Zuppa Toscana and Whole Wheat Oatmeal Bread.

   

Hi, I'm Laura. I'm a wanna-be chef. I'm a writer. I'm a student.

I'm a Mormon.

So grateful you were born. What would I do without you?

Of late, I've found myself feeling discouraged in the face of assignments that I never complete, class readings that I never do, essays that I want to write but never begin. I've wondered what I am doing instead with my time. I had begun to think that I must be wasting hours of my life away doing nothing.

Yet, in the last week or so, I've realized that if I am, in fact, wasting time, then it's wasted time that matters. I want to waste my time talking with the loves of my life-- a husband, sisters, nieces & nephews, brothers, friends. I want to waste time dicing butternut squash. I want to waste time cuddling in a movie, painting a wall, walking instead of driving. I want to waste time writing unimportant emails and pinning a darling skirt to Pinterest. And perhaps, if I have leftover hours after wasting my time, I'll do a bit of homework, but only as it fits into my larger goals of learning to write and teach well.

I've realized that I want to foster a certain level of un-busy-ness that leaves me free to set aside rigidity and schedule and assignments for lingering, for soup, for gratitude, for a rich life, for the chance to list my blessings and realize, suddenly, that my life is full of the things that I want it to be full of-- family, food, reading, a bit of writing, a whole lot of loving, and a relationship with God that is all-too-often derailed by tired eyes.

I'm grateful for my life that is filled, overflowing, abundant, rich. For the countertop in my kitchen that is stacked with apples, onions, half a cookie, and a quarter of apple pie. For my email inbox brimming with good people, recipes, writing opportunities, and a bit of homework. For a hybrid sketchbook/calendar that is dotted not with sketches, but with lists that I am always reordering as I navigate days. For people who packed into our kitchen on Sunday night for pie and a game of Ticket to Ride; I wish they'd lingered longer. I always do.

I'm pretty sure today is a beautiful day. It's still morning, so it's not quite deep enough into the day to tell, but I think it will be. And I don't mean beautiful as in sunny and warm and refreshing with a slight breeze. I'm not talking about the weather. I think today is going to be beautiful for all its mundane moments. Today's little things-- books to read, places to go, food to eat-- have started to gather and it's gonna be good. I can tell.

In class today, a student challenged how people create meaning out of commonplace things. He noted that as people draw substance and salvation from their simplest experiences, they are creating false depth, contriving substance from its opposite, forcing consequence and fate and beauty and God. These people, characters, authors, or otherwise are all too earnest in their disingenuous need for depth, he says.

And you know what, to heck with all of that, I want to create meaning and substance and depth from nothing. I want to do it everyday. I want to live my life looking for redemption in a sprinkler and transcendence in the steam rising from a pot of boiling water. I want to look for God in the rain that is just about to drop from the heavy clouds at this very moment.

So maybe I am talking about the weather.

I was born at 12:49 am on a Thursday 23 years ago. In less than one hour, it'll be the exact moment, on a Thursday once again, 23 years later. 

I want to title this post, "On Failure," because I set a few goals to reach by my birthday and I'm not in shape enough to run three miles today and I did not blog everyday until my 23rd birthday. I did not accomplish either goal. Epic failure. But how depressing would it be to have a blog post, on my birthday, that was forevermore titled-- "On Failure"? And so I've left this post untitled, which is how I like my posts lately.

I feel like this birthday of mine plus my inability to accomplish goals calls for some sort of philosophical rambling about learning to be okay with ourselves as we are and practicing that very okay-with-ourselves thing as we grow older. Or maybe I should ramble about how these looming goals have been quite the heavy backpack-- a burden that I am, oh, so glad to be rid of. What a birthday present! I could advise that it's better not to set goals because then we wouldn't ever have to write a post on our birthdays about being out-of-shape and inconsistent.

But you know what, I'm not going to ramble about any of that. I'm just going to wish myself happy birthday and be proud that since I made those embarrassingly-lofty-for-me goals I have written more posts on this space than the rest of the year combined, times four. And I have run at least once (or twice) a week, which is huge for me.

I'm just going to write, on my birthday, how lucky I am. What a beautiful life I get to live. I'm grateful today. Grateful for a sleeping husband, a midnight telephone call from a happy-birthday-crooning sister, fresh sunflowers on the table, a box of sunburnt peaches, and few regrets. Grateful for my mom who 23 years ago today was in the final stages of labor getting ready for my debut.

And as the cherry on top of all this gratitude, I'm going to write that a bit of failure never hurt anyone, especially when life, lived simply, packs so many beautiful successes. Call it rationalization or call it truth.

Here's to birthdays and all those goals I never plan to reach.