What is Different, What is the Same

I was living with too much.

The errands reflected my needs, but my needs reflected excess.

The work reflected my values, but my values reflected excess.

I wanted more and needed to stop, but I didn't know.

Now at least I've slowed.

My words are softer, but my conviction is stronger.

My days are freer, but my soul is more full.

I make do and bask in the relief of letting perfection go.

When I play, there is exactly enough in that space to occupy me.

There is a breeze brushing the hair against my neck.

There is gritty cement under my shoes.

There is laughter and instruction and compromise, and that's all it needs to be.

When I set to a task, there is simpicity in its significance.

It is an accomplishment not discredited by others not met.

It is an ammusement persued without shame.

It is a function of enrichment for my existence, and that's all it needs to be.

When I remember who lost, it's with deep, deep regret.

It was my family. It was my neighbor. It was me.

There was no one more worthy of escape, no prescription for success.

And so we were all the same, and that's all it needs to be.