My ideals are simplicity, optimism and appreciating every moment. I say this, but too often clutter distracts me, negativity consumes me, and what follows is not appreciation of anything, but instead a tendency to wallow in a mud puddle I call “lost vision.” To regain that vision, I have composed this wish list….
I want a room and a hotplate, a toilet and a shower.
I want a bike with a basket and funky Euro hair.
I want a nonna for wisdom and a fish for therapy.
I want to wear a daily path in order to call myself a regular.
Now with these things,
I want the sun to always shine
and the clouds to always be passing on their way to somewhere else.
I’d rather not have a car, at least for now,
but I would like to live in a weathered old building with dark green shutters,
I want to volunteer at a soup kitchen and I want to be an expert at making my own bruschetta.
I want to know my hometown like I do my own name, all the ups and downs, the cracks and the crevices.
I want to think clearly and speak simply.
I want to be good and kind, unselfish and pleasing.
I want to be aware of the negative, but then quickly push it to my subconscious,
allowing only good things to appear in my reflection.
I want to read and learn and touch and feel.
I want to cry at the opera and laugh with a gypsy.
I want to make friends with nuns and monks.
I want a bowler hat and a bright red scarf.
I want to know Masaccio from Boccaccio, Dante from Duccio.
I want to teach what I learn and to share my discoveries.
I want to be content.
I want to be joyful.
I want to take off my rose-colored glasses and yet still see the world around me just as bright.
I want to make this world of mine just as tangible for those I meet.
I want the grass to seem greener and the sky to seem taller.
I want to focus on the day after it rains when it seems as though God has washed the windows.
I want to take the clouds as means to appreciating the sun all the more.
I don’t want to be immune to pain, as no one is,
and I don’t want cloud nine to be a permanent home.
I accept times of discomfort and my share of suffering.
I welcome doubt as I embrace loneliness.
I don’t look forward to these things,
but they will inevitably come,
and I will milk from them just the same as I will the times of weightlessness.
I want to remember that is doesn’t matter the size or color of a cloud,
or the darkness or heaviness of the sky….
The sun is still shining just as brightly somewhere on someone, and my turn will come again.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.