Let your cold, dead heart believe in magic

I am not about to get a “Live, Laugh, Love” decoration for my home.

Nor am I about to “Eat, Pray, Love” my way around the world.

I am a Gen-Xer born and raised, and I’m way too far in debt, way too busy, and -of course – way too tired to do any of that.

I also speak sarcasm quite fluently. Too fluently, maybe.

That said, I would like to encourage all of us to stop and smell the proverbial roses every once in a while.

“What!?” you protest, “All I ever smell is the cowshit — there aren’t any roses!”

Eh, you might be right about the roses.

But I guarantee there’s something lovely around you:

  • a few seconds of cool breeze on a super-hot day
  • the shade of leafy branches briefly blocking out the too-bright sun
  • the sound of a real, joyful belly laugh coming from a stranger half a block away, drifting across the evening
  • (in my case, sounds of real belly laughs coming from children after farting)

None of us are getting out of this place alive.

None of us get to go backwards and restart from a save point.

I encourage us, all of us, to find a tiny bit of magic and enjoy it.

Just enough to thaw our hearts a bit.

Then we can shake our heads, mutter grumpily, drink some more coffee, and go back to our regular routines.

But hopefully with a little secret tucked into our noggins.

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