As I have gotten older, it has been so hard to find time to put thoughts down here.  I pray artistry is something I never lose.  Because when one does not write or sing or feel the thoughtful crescendo of another artist to the very marrow of one's bones, it is the soul that is at the greatest risk.  We must, above all else, never lose appreciation of the small beauties that make our existence here so, so very rich. Noting the beauty of a moon floating behind wispy, grey clouds or the marvel of young ducklings chasing after their mother. The way a good movie can shake strongly held beliefs or Beethoven's 9th can take you to another world entirely.  Wordsworth's poems as a balm to the coldness of the exterior world or Tokien's imagination as a reminder that magic is just around the corner.  We would lose so much if we were all mathematicians and scientists.  The world would be so flat and gray.  We would, I believe, cease to be human.

As my life has become more hectic and more filled with adult things, I find a bit of the joy of youth has naturally faded.  Sometimes I neglect to note small moments of beauty or I don't have time to record thoughts here.  I don't find time for Bach or Portman or Faure.  Time moves quickly and I wake up another year older having neglected words and music and the very marrow of existence entirely.

Sometimes I think it might be a bit of a conspiracy.  Keep us all so busy that we don't have time to think.  Keep us so weary and so tired that we don't have time to analyze the meaning behind our actions.  At forty hours a week in addition to a commute we hardly have time to cook dinner let alone wonder why (WHY!?) we live the way we do.  So removed from community.  So removed from family.  So removed from the very arts which have been an expression of humanity from our earliest beginnings.  We miss a good deal in our modern society.  If only we had a wee bit more time.  More moments to pause and gape at the beauty of the world.

It's like waking up, being here now.  Being here with you, really, which I suppose is a strange thing to say since you're still largely a big bundle of cells rapidly duplicating.  I've felt guilty that I'm not more excited, that I'm not somehow more bonded to you.  I've met women who seem to know their baby before its born.  Right now, though, it seems like we're mostly sharing the same space.  Because I don't feel drastically, starkly different.  I'm still me.  I've just been exhausted and insanely nauseous for the past four weeks.

I'm excited to meet you, though, when you make your appearance.  I hope you feel all the love and joy that is your due.  I hope you feel the warmth of our home and trust our embrace.  Because you will be loved.  I hope you have no doubt about that.