Max tugged my finger and led me down another aisle in the Dollar Store. He is 21 months old.
“What, buddy?” I asked.
He pulled harder. We walked down the aisle of Hallmark cards to a rack of Christmas wrapping paper. On the end caps, a row of shiny red bows were stuck to the wire frames.
Max let go of my finger and ran to the bows. He knelt down, lowered his head, and sniffed one, thinking it was a flower like the ones in his scratch and sniff books. Like the ones in his mother’s garden this past summer.
The rush of love I felt in that moment was pure and real and absolutely uncomplicated. It was beyond explanation, but any explanation would have cheapened what I was feeling.
For A Few, Uncomplicated Things
Many of my favorite things and most precious pleasures are similarly uncomplicated. The sound of the wind. An evening by a fire with friends. The perfect, heavy lift. My wife’s face, after she is asleep and her concerns and pressures are gone.
The smell of cinnamon. The sound of laughter. Sunsets in Moab. A sincere hug. Cold water. The chaotic sight of a blizzard from my bed. The exquisite sight of a Butterfinger blizzard from Dairy Queen.
The rare minute of beautiful, physical stillness that I am always imagining but cannot quite reach.
For a few uncomplicated things, I would give a great deal. But for most of them, nothing is required but the willingness to slow down, calm down, breath, and see.
If he can see a flower in a bow, I wonder what I am missing.
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