Today

I woke up early and ambled over to my desk in the dark, carefully, so the promise of a mouse bite of undisturbed time wouldn’t be nixed by ‘i-am-hungry’s and ‘where-is-my-fly-wa-honk’.

And so here I am, in this pitch black corner of the house, with my hard drive humming away, and my curser pushing onward while my feet are turning cold around the edges, because I couldn’t locate my Crox in the dark.

But I treasure this little space of time and silence. It’s mine for now, my moment of silence and sanity before the rumble, which has become my life, is to begin.

And I love that life. Often, these days, I think, how great it is. How wonderful to have three kids. What better investment in a life could there be?

I see dear ol’ Zoë, whose growing thoughts are pushing me onward, letting me rethink what I have learned so far about myself, about people, and about the world. And then Lea, on the other hand, at seven, who doesn’t ask, who simply knows. Her mind is spinning, her eyes are two bright, little, fiery diamonds and her smile is triumphant. No need to ponder there. And then, there is Julian, who is busy explaining the world to us, and who is inviting us so generously to hug and squeeze him 24/7.

It is a good life, lived in a world that could be better. But it is still good. I have wondered these days, whether I should fret more and worry, whether I should be out there to fight for lower emissions.

I do hope that there will be a decent future for our children and their children, and the generations to come, but I am doubtful that we will manage to get there in time. We are, after all, very limited. The drive for supremacy and our still rather underdeveloped emotional intelligence are serious challenges for our long-term survival, I believe. Far beyond rising sea levels.

And so, I have decided to be happy. Today.