This is one of those questions where I'd rather show you, than tell, my answer.

I'd rather take you by the hand and lead you outside, away from your computer, away from any pressures, away from any troubling stories or news or worries or concerns, and into a more timeless world of seasons and cycles and peace.

I'd rather dance with you to somewhere still and quiet, deep into a sun-dappled forest, weaving through trees, where the only sounds are birdsong, and the rustling of branches and the rhythm of our footsteps.

I'd rather discover with you a lake, still and blue and calm, with a warm and smooth expanse of rock leading out into it.

I'd rather we both make our way out on this natural bridge, to lie on our bellies with our hands trailing into the water, and I'd rather point to your reflection, to you—and not just any you, but you when you feel the most relaxed and trusting and happy and comfortable, and you when you feel most loved.


 

I expect to be surprised and amazed and bewildered and overjoyed. I expect to be moved to tears, and to be loved and hurt and devastated and delighted. I expect to be a part of it all, as much as possible, and I expect to play, and I expect to be blessed with so many wonderful companions through it all. There is so, so much to explore.

I love this question.

What's next? What's now?

I love this question because it can always be asked, because life does go on, because something is invariably waiting around the corner to surprise and delight and bemuse and astound us.

What's next? My reaction is generally the same. My heart shudders happily. Oh, just wait! Oh, you'll see! Oh, you can't imagine the world that's bursting into being in every moment!

Or perhaps you can. What's next?

This. And this. And thisandthisandthis.

Isn't it amazing?

I think so.