I spent most of last night sitting at my kitchen table with my girlfriend. We got started on a 1,026 piece jigsaw puzzle that looks as if it will require a few more evenings to complete. The image on the box, and hopefully on the puzzle itself eventually, is of a butterfly. And that butterfly is made up of perhaps a few thousand smaller images of flowers, birds, mountains, sunsets, balloon filled skies, waterfalls, buffaloes, beaches and so on.
It was a quiet night. My cat slept on the chair in between us. We left the windows open, turned on the fan, and let the slow deep warmth on the June night seep into us. We listened to old episodes of This American Life. We paused occasionally to exchange thoughts about the puzzle or the radio show. But mostly we just focused on the puzzle in silence. Intent on working through the task, but doing so without any sense of urgency. And just like that, without any spectacular event or special occasion, I enjoyed one of the more pleasant evenings in recent memory.
And as I think of these things, I am amazed at how easy it seems right at this moment. It seems like something that I should be able to discover every day. But I won't discover it every day. I'll wander off. I'll trip and fall. I'll have bad days. And I may even stumble through a few more bad years before my race has been run. But I'm going to try to remember. I'm going to try to remember the beauty that I find in all of these tiny little puzzle pieces. I'm going to try to focus on all of the incredible worlds that I find at my fingertips, and that come together to create the big world that surrounds me.