I picked a rose this afternoon, and it was a beautiful rose. I've found myself immersed in study and work lately; but don't worry, I've had my fair share of play. Not to mention a daily dose of art and intrigue. Sometimes I try picking up my favorite book, "To Kill A Mockingbird," when it's late at night, but I always fall asleep with my hand on the page. I've taken to riding my bike a bit more lately too; and I've decided that his name is Bill, and we've come to be quite the comfortable pair.
I've thought several times lately about what it means exactly to be a romantic, after finally deciding-or was it realizing? that that is what I am. It's funny really, how pragmatic we assume ourselves to be. In conclusion I've learned recently that to be a romantic is not only to joy in a sunset at a lover's side, but to joy in the sunset for being a sunset alone. To climb a tree for the sake of climbing, and to lie in the grass under that tree, because you're tired from swinging in the park, and just want to watch the leaves fall. It's living life for the sake of living, and loving every moment of it. To feel squishy mud beneath our feet, while listening to a cricket's rhythmic beat. But the romance of life does not reside in nature alone; it breeds from ideas and people too. From the taste of a Roman pear, to the reflective impressions of Plato himself. To live my brothers and sisters, to be a romantic is to truly live.
Counting the moments till the leaves really start to fall off the trees, and planning trips up the canyon and piles in the park, I realize a little more deeply what life is all about. What my experiences today can do for the world tomorrow, for my friends, family, myself, my children. How can I show them a world I've never seen before? How can I inspire without having answered the call alone? From this moment onward I'll live a little more truly, sincerely, fully even, so that one day and along the way, I can better share it with those around me; the world, my friends, family, myself, my children.
