Recently I went out for smoothies with a longtime friend. The conversation began with catching up. It had been awhile.
"What's new?" Each of us gabbed while the other listened, laughing at the best parts. When I could almost see the bottom of my cup she shook her head.
"Your life is just more
interesting than mine."
Did she have any idea how ordinary it really is? Empty and load the dishwasher with the same bowls that showed up yesterday. Different flavors of crud. Wake up kids while weighing which pile of laundry to hoist into the machine. John is out of dark socks, but the white load looks like an iceberg. Before climate change.
The stack of paperwork gaining momentum for the upcoming fifteenth is more boring than a
documentary by the AMA about the advantages of dental floss. The actually riveting book laying next to it is unread, as the snippets of my day ricochet between sewing stuffed dogs with seven year olds and addressing anniversary cards.
During our chat she mentioned an upcoming trip to New England, and her oldest daughter's pregnancy. Her younger son is looking at colleges and she is painting again. Juicy enough by any
standards.
Before I had kids, or got married, I figured I knew what to expect. I got some things spot on, like pink cheeks and a king sized bed. But the unknowns have swept in like a tsunami.
Life is interesting. Just walking out my front door there is an art show of emerging buds, tenacious blades of daffodils that refused to succumb to snow. The birds sound like a calliope as they sing to each other and, maybe to me. Green
creeps in as a second act to white and gray.
The vacillating weather, the unpredictable hiccups in our health or finances, even the aloof demeanor of the woman behind the counter are all thought provoking. They compel our attention in a way that keeps us curious.
If we remember to ask the world, "What's new?"
