Sunday, March 8, 2015

A Small Life

She lived in a small house in a small, serene neighborhood in a small community filled with small-minded people.  Her days were filled with small, mundane, repetitive tasks:  work, errands, chores, shopping, homework, TV, laundry.  Her goals seemed small, it now occurred to her: job, marriage, kids, home, car, dog.  All achieved . . . and she took no small pleasure in most of these accomplishments.  She endeavored each day to fill her soul with gratitude for the small things, to live in the present, to appreciate all she had earned or been given.
Yet - she was overwhelmed recently with just how small her life was:  no community of friends, no outside activities, no hobbies.  At home there was no small talk at the end of the day, no small gestures of affection.  Just small noises coming from separate rooms.  Small comments - just enough to function.  Sometimes small, sideways glances of disgust or frustration.
Sometimes in the still, small moments of the night when all others slept she dreamed -  she no longer wanted small.  She wanted BIG.  She wanted loud, busy.  She wanted the glitz and the glamour.  The fame and the fortune.  She wanted her name to be familiar and beloved by the world.  She wanted to create, to be sought out, to lecture, to travel, to lead, to learn.  She wanted to dance and to dine. She wanted notoriety.  She wanted connection to others. She wanted invitations and accolades. She wanted limousines and red carpets and fancy dresses.  She wanted book signings and gallery showings. She wanted philanthropy and foundations.  She wanted BIG!  She wanted EXTRAORDINARY!
She had always felt this was her destiny - but time seemed to be running out.  The small, persistent second-hand was ticking away.
Perhaps she was unrealistic.  Perhaps she was wrong.  Perhaps small was all she would get.  There was an element of doubt, of course.
Fortunately, it was small.

Quote of the day:  Dreaming is an act of pure imagination, attesting in all men a creative power, which if it were available in waking, would make every man a Dante or Shakespeare.  ~H.F. Hedge

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