Sometimes, do you ask yourself, “Why do I bother? Why do I make the effort to do what I do? To go to work, gather sustenance, keep a cheerful countenance, pay all the bills on time, try to stem the tide of clutter, and find ways to put yummy food on the table?”
Me, too. It’s normal and human to wonder these things.
And then my house smells like roasted chicken.
And the kid asks for help, something she finds really difficult to do.
And the sun and the cold conspire to make it feel like the best fall day that ever befell.
And the kid and I sit and eat the crackly chicken skin, talk about deep things, and plan her future—the near future, which involves making potato cakes out of the leftover mashed potatoes and shallots, and the far future, with college and jobs and pets and maybe more.
And I know why I do this. And why people have done it throughout the eons.
And it is enough.