the doors of ireland

Sometimes life moves on a grand scale. There are big things to see, giant projects to complete, large obstacles at hand, momentous occasions to celebrate, ginormous stresses to handle, monumental milestones to reach.

But sometimes, it is small. It is simple. All of the adjectives that mean "big" have been swept away by time, and you are left with the itty, bitty, neat, fine, ordinary things. It's as if you've been staring at an oncoming tornado, gigantic and swirling from sky to dirt, and suddenly it disappears and you notice that the sun is shining, the buds are blooming and you're a bit hungry.

The nectar of living can be found in these moments. Sometimes it's harder. But I find that the joy can be sweeter. When we went to Ireland, I remember a lot of the big things we saw. The Cliffs of Moher, the castles, the immense landscapes and gardens. But I also remember the tiny clovers I tucked in my hair and the feel of warm rain and the sporadic collection of colorful doors in Dublin. The smaller things that caught my eye, the things I found romantic and sweet.

When you find yourself in these seasons of waiting, when the calendar is empty and your soul is wanderlusting and all of the big, wonderful things have fallen away and it's just you and the daily grind, take heart. Take many hearts. Grab at them and let them love you. Grab at them and tell them to let you love them. It's easy to feel restless and to try to force something big into your life, to fill it with the many wonderful somethings you think you need. But everything you need is right here. Refocus on them. Don't wish them away. Let your eyes absorb the bright doors and give thanks for their marvelous color.