A wise friend pointed out to me yesterday, while we were discussing the odds and ends of life, that it really doesn't matter what you do. It's the relationships we build.
Not a terribly original idea, I know, but it struck me:
Musicians might love creating music but they would never be satisfied to sit in a vacuum listening to themselves play; artists do not (generally) send each project through the shredder as they complete it: what you do doesn't matter nearly as much as how who it affects and in what manner.
The lyrics to a song I probably no longer own or can track down have been going through my head on a loop:
What will you do with the time that's left?
Will you fill it all with no regrets?
Will they say that you loved 'til your final breath?
Something like that. And when I consider the song and the idea, I'm inclined to agree with both–but I think I want to accomplish so many things in my life and I have so many backup plans for every contingency that I neglect the reason for it all–the relationships–and that's when I get frustrated.
In the wee small hours it all seems to clear and simple and I go into my day thinking I've cracked life's code and I'm going to be that kind of person today. The loving, patient, kind, wise woman I want to be.
And then everyone else wakes up and the garbage truck comes early and the boy slaps the girl–who may or may not have deserved it, judging from the horrific things coming from her mouth–and well, you know–life happens.
I'm really counting on the idea that it's the intent of our hearts that matters most. Because that's about as far as I'm ever going to get, I'm afraid!