Funny how I quickly become attached to people, things, places, ideas. I’m not really sure how or when it happens. But all of the sudden I can’t imagine living without a particular object, place, or person. My sitting room offers me every comfort I crave: a chair that fits exactly to my form; a tranquil view of trees, foliage, and an open meadow; and windows on three sides that welcome in the streaming sun. My sitting room is a retreat from the hustle and bustle of real estate and client commitments and a sanctuary of calm.
My attachments don’t end at my home. I also can’t imagine living without my two Boxer dogs: Pinky, a bumbling ball of energy and constant entertainment; Sam is my self-assured guard and faithful companion. I have a love for Italy that borders on the obsessive. If I’m not wearing a couple pieces of special jewelry I swear my entire day will be off-kilter. My closest girlfriends “get me.” I have a favorite pair of jeans and can rock my well-worn cowboy boots. I feel 23 again when I’m riding in my farm truck with the windows down, my hair blowing in the wind and the music up loud. My Nook (thank you, Denise!) allows me to escape into a great book. At one point I was quite literally attached to my son. I can write an entire book on the love and bond we continue to share. He is a stubborn, self-assured, frustrating, smart, loud, and messy teenager but he is also the air I breathe.
Being attached to things and people is a good thing. They ground me, give me strength, make me feel pretty, and make me feel alive. I know I can’t take these things or people with me when it comes time to meet my maker. But what I can take are the memories of each and the love they offer. My hope for everyone reading this is that you are attached as well. It’s all good.