“Tell me something nice?” I asked Bones the other night.
I ask him that a lot, when I’m feeling sad or insecure. He never questions why I’m asking. He just answers.
“I think you are the kindest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever met.”
I kissed him, said thank you, and snuggled up close, wishing I could see the me he describes.
I have been thinking a lot about Chris, and Ant, and so many other people. People that I think are amazing and kind and thoughtful and patient. People like my friend Heidi, who has this way of showing me that there’s always a little more compassion to find when looking at a situation. And I’ve been considering how I talk about stories. I catch myself not being kind or patient; I catch myself being demanding, expecting a lot, being easily frustrated by things rather than taking the higher road. I complain and point out a mistake that I could just as easily fix and stay quiet about, knowing that I’m just as likely to make a similar error. More often than I want to admit, I am not the best helper at home, finding it easier to work on cross stitch than to get up and help Bones with something he’s working on.
I know, I know. We’re all only human, right? We all get frustrated and impatient and annoyed and discouraged and stressed and…
I really want to do better.
I want to be the person my husband says I am.
You and me, Opus. Let’s go do better.