I lived not far outside of New York for my entire childhood and the beginning of my adult life.
I used to frequent Broadway a few times a year- tickets to shows as holiday or birthday gifts from family.
I was involved in vocal music classes through middle and high school which included trips to the city to see professionals use their instruments in practice.
I never saw this one as a play.
It became a movie, but I never saw it in theatres. And I still haven’t seen it on Netflix, etc.
Yet, I know one song from the show.
The song that everyone knows. And the message from the song resonates with me daily.
How does one measure a year?
How does one account for all that happened in a year?
Well, we have our rituals.
We gather around the TV- or around the local neighborhood area- to watch a ball/pickle/acorn/opossum/flea (yes, the pickle, acorn, opossum, and flea all happen in NC!) to mark the end of one set of 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days, 8,765 hours, 525,600 minutes.
We light candles on a cake to make another year passed for each individual, from the day they entered the world. To mark their own set of 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days, 8,765 hours, 525,600 minutes.
Yet, when we reflect on a year…we typically don’t remember all of the day-to-day events. We don’t remember every one of those 525, 600 minutes. Instead, we remember a general feeling we had for people in our lives during those minutes for that year.
So rather than focusing on the hustle and bustle of the day to day, focus on those who matter the most to you.
Witchlette has found the scrapbooks I had started when Hubby and I were still 15, newly dating, in high school. She is obsessed with looking at pictures and looking at how we’ve changed. She loves seeing our story going through the four books, the last of which includes the beginning of her story- of our story as a whole family. I don’t remember taking most of the pictures. I don’t remember a lot of the specific moments. But, I do remember the love that I felt with every single frame.
After having a bit of a tough day at work last week, I thanked Hubby for all that he has brought and continues to bring into my life. I thanked him for his love for me, everyday. I thanked him for standing by me when I am at my worst, not just when I’m at my best. I thanked him for being the meat and helping us to make 1.5 potatoes of my spiritual journey. At the end of the day, the business of work, as important as it may be, is all just static. At the end of the day, love is what matters. Love of family and friends. Love of kith and kin. Love.
It all goes back to love.
(The potatoes would be Witchlette and Witchling for those who didn’t catch my metaphor).