I could have this engraved on my tombstone . . . It’s pretty much the truth, I think. And I’m glad. Relieved. Thankful, even . . .
Personality profiles and life in general over the years have branded me as one of those—givers who too often forget that the giving should begin at home. That the bottom line for giving well is having the wherewithall to give at all.
The last . . . months have been a giving test of a different sort—the give and take (and not too much of either too soon or unwisely) of playing the relationship game.
Sitting on greenisforgo today, focused more on the rewards and obstacles ahead than looking over my shoulder at where I’ve been (too unremarkable those games, though interesting in their poetic twists and musical turns and stopping-off places, to mark a place in memory for long).
And thinking that, yes, after a lifetime of "what if?” and “if only?" I have come to terms with “what is”, and what is not, good for me.
I play my own relationship game these days. All my cards on the table, face up as needed or requested, nothing to hide. Solitaire in the off season . . . And always an extra chair at the table for somewhen, someone, someday . . .
