For Christmas last week, my mother sent me a gardener’s bag with a colorful tag that she printed from her computer. It read, “Amanda’s Non-Dysfunctional Toolbox.” In the bag she put candles and bubble bath, and other simple tools for relaxation. I laughed, and then I got angry, because my mother always has a sense of humor about these things. Then I realized that I had needed shower gel and bubble bath, I just hadn’t told her, and she knew anyway. From that, I realized that no one could find new tools for my toolbox except for me. And that these tools were not going to come overnight, or even in a bag. My tools were out there, they were just waiting for me to find them, and when I did, they would probably fit like the missing pieces in the puzzle.
It feels good to write.
Your stories, musings, and advice are welcome here. We know you've got something to share, so jump in—maybe get a little famous. And don't worry—you can save a draft!
Other topics you might appreciate
