"I'm sorry," my husband says often.
Not because he's done anything wrong, or to offend or hurt me. But just because he can tell I am unsettled, discontent, disappointed at that moment in life in general.
He thinks he has failed because I am not happy all the time, that he needs to wrap me in all the comforts of this life.
I woke up this morning and checked my investment portfolio. It's something I do as often as I can to gain insight about my holdings.
Opportunities come and go in our lives. Most poignantly, they happen in small slices of time. A moment’s hesitation and a job prospect is gone. One second more and that car would have sideswiped you. The phone sounds its last ring and you grab it in time to hear the apology you've been praying for. You crest the hill at exactly the same moment the sunset sky reaches its most glorious and spectacular release of color and light.
A few days ago I was lunching with a friend, a fellow director of student plays, and we were discussing her most recent production, a musical version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
Every genre has a hit song that glorifies abandoning the drudgery or difficulties of life and fleeing to worry-free days. Popular movies touch on the theme, vivid images stirring up our yearning for another life. And not just in our current culture: Conjure up that mental clip of Sister Maria shedding her habit for her native dress, running through the fields, arms flung wide, singing about being alive to the purity of the music of the hills.
Laura England Miller