What if this is It?

Some thoughts on living an ordinary life

“Marigold,” by Sheeba Manghat

The other day, Maile and I sat quietly talking about our current writing lives, both which seem to have reached a dead end for now, or a cul-de-sac, a pause in a conversation, a rest in a piece of music, or perhaps an overlook with a well-positioned bench . . . how’s that for mixing metaphors? And in that moment of reflection, we took in the present state of our lives.

“But what if this is it?” Maile asked. “What if we never sell a million books or make a ton of money, and this is our life? Just this everyday sort of life? Working and loving each other and driving the kids all over the place and having normal conversations with other not-famous people.”

She paused, and we both stared directly at the life we have, instead of this sort of dream-world that’s off somewhere else.

“I think it’s a pretty good life,” she said. “This one. This one we’re living.”

“Our spiritual life is a life in which we wait, actively present to the moment,
expecting that new things will happen to us, new things that are far beyond
our own imagination or prediction. This, indeed, is a very radical stance toward life
in a world preoccupied with control.”

Henri Nouwen

On one of these ordinary days, Maile and I wandered the aisles of a greenhouse, picking up some flowers for our front porch and biding time before our 8-year-old son’s spring performance began. I felt so present in that moment, taking in the beauty of each flower, standing for an extra minute in the warmth of the greenhouse where the sun was baking down through the glass. It was cool outside, and a slow morning at the greenhouse, and little birds flew in and out through the raised sides.

Then I saw them, over in the corner: marigolds. Tiny burst of yellow and orange. Marigolds always remind me of my Grandma Smucker. Her little one-story home in the middle of farm country, the narrow front walk that we almost never used (because we always entered through the sliding glass deck doors). And lining that narrow walk? There was always a stretch of marigolds that she planted on her own. Grandpa was already gone. She would bend her stick-thin form, wearing a plain dress and a covering, hunched over the row, her strong fingers clearing space then patting down the soil around the flowers.

In the greenhouse, thirty-five years after seeing my Grandma plant marigolds, I walked over to those little flowers and literally put my entire face down in the blossoms. I took in a deep, deep breath, and I caught the scent, and on that scent I traveled through seasons and years and decades, to the summer when I was as old as our youngest son, and we’d go to Grandma’s house multiple nights each week to sit in her kitchen and drink meadow tea. And I’d run outside with my cousins, chasing fireflies in the damp evening grass or playing Collie Over or Piggy Wants a Motion or riding our bikes around the neighboring intermediate school.

And one memory in particular, a July 4th, when a bunch of us scrambled up onto her shingled roof, scraping our knees and elbows, bending her gutters, lying there in the dark until the fireworks burst overhead, the explosions concussing against my tiny rib cage. The grit of the roof under the pads of my fingers, scratching my neck. The ooohs and aaahs of my cousins at each bright burst. The chaotic finale, the sudden and overwhelming quiet when it was finished. The slow crawl down over the side of the roof, cousins’ hands guiding me down, a sense that this, somehow, was what life was all about, but not able to capture it or explain why.

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I stood up, back in the greenhouse now, lifting my face out of the tray of flowers and walking back down the aisle, under the hanging baskets, past the succulents, back into my pretty good life.

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We’re offering a new Story-Telling Intensive over at our online writing community!

Mary Karr referred to George Saunders as “The best short-story writer in English.” In this 8-week book study, we’ll work our way through George Saunders’ A Swim in the Pond in the Rain, study the art of storytelling as perfected by the Russian greats, and learn about what works and what doesn’t.

As we go through the book we’ll also each be working on our own short stories and presenting them to the class for feedback. Finally, we’ll explore options on where to submit our short stories for publication.

If you’re interested in finding out more or registering for this weekly online class (8 weeks long), you can head HERE.