Sunday, April 21, 2013


"High Valley Spring", oil, by Don Gray
 Like most of us, I have been trying to “do my best” for most of my life, but lately I’ve been looking at another way of living – a different sense, you might say, of what doing my best might mean. As I was making a start on this paragraph this morning, I caught sight of some clouds that were shifting their shapes in the sky outside the window by my desk, and it occurred to me that they were the best clouds they could possibly be. They weren’t struggling or striving or working out ways to be the best; they simply were, and always would be, as good as clouds could be. Even if they slipped off into just wispy streams of whiteness, they would be the best possible wispy streams of whiteness. I thought of this as I sat at my computer in my crumpled shirt and dirt-stained pants, and it seemed like I was similar to those clouds, and maybe just as marvelous as they always are. Maybe I don’t need to struggle so sincerely to be the best I can be, because perhaps, in a sense, I always am. Maybe my saggy shirt sags in the best ways possible, and maybe the dirt on my pants is perfectly placed and displays the best possible shades of brown. If I can’t seem to think of the finest words for this paragraph, perhaps, like those always perfect clouds, I can confidently come up with words that will shine with their own simple brightness. Maybe the best I can do is simply believe in who I am at this mint-condition moment, and let each word do its own remarkable work.           

No comments: