Thinking a lot about our, or my, significance in the world. I have always had the idea to do great things, but my concept of great has always been defined by enormity. A famous novel, a major film, a significant act of discovery. I’m a “finding-a-cure-for-cancer” kind of girl. But the thing is, as I reach 40, I kind of thought that I would have found that cure by now. Absolutely I recognize that I have three amazing children, one of the most successful marriages I know of, and a thriving business. But I’m still waiting to hit on the plan for world peace.
And sometimes I panic a bit. That I have fallen into mediocrity, and humdrum nothingness and my life consists of school lunches and gym classes and that I’ve melded into the background tapestry of the world. And all the while, right at the surface, all of the creativity that can make a difference is being spent on which sandwich cutouts I’m going to use tonight and whether the small people will eat star or heart-shaped cheese.
So I’m trying to redefine the enormity of significance. And I’m trying to make everything of great significance. The heart-shaped cheese, and my interactions with the Starbucks barista, and the constant idea that if I put out what’s inside, the significance of every day can have the utmost potential. And maybe, in the midst of a “Pilates V” I’ll realize that I’ve actually found a cure for cancer and discovered world peace all at once. Or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.
Now just to believe it.