I’ve always loved poetry– the dance of syllables on my tongue and the way the words play like happy squirrels around a tree. I was the rebel child who scribbled through her schoolwork so I could rush ahead to the school library — my sanctuary, the Taj Mahal within my otherwise bleak, cement-walled elementary school.
In case you didn’t know, book sniffing is a thing and I did it. In my mind, the smell of fresh ink on glossy pages was far richer and sweeter than anything Chanel ever made. I’d trade a book for a pack of watermelon Bubblelicious, a smooth roll of Bubble Tape, or even a flaming red Fireball.
I still get excited about books and poems, only now you’ll find me scrolling through Web pages on my phone and stuffing hard copies in the console of my car or the side pockets of my purse. I no longer sniff books, but I’d still trade a sweet treat for a peek at your bookshelf– and yes, I am judging you by its content.
Books take me to a happy place — that place Dorothy Gale sang about, where troubles melt like lemon drops, way above the chimney tops.
Sometimes we need to escape our crazy hectic lives — if only for a moment.
We need to intentionally find a happy place where we can pause, listen to the rhythm of our breathing, and close our eyes so we can see the bigger picture — the portrait of life’s gifts: the dimpled legs of babies, the blur of earth outside your rain-streaked window, the Christmas morning faces of friends and family.
Where is your happy place today?
Mantra: My happy place is accessible wherever I am, because happiness is a decision more than a destination.