We live in a cozy duplex, in a quiet neighborhood, just beyond the hustle and bustle of Atlanta. It’s a lot like the photo, actually. I’ve been thinking lately about how lucky we are to live here, how thankful I am for our little corner of the world. Our next door neighbor has a gorgeous Japanese maple tree, presently deep red. There’s almost always an empty swing for Henry at the park down the street. There are Little Free Libraries and flower gardens and friendly faces. We can choose to spend our days with trees or tall buildings. We can shop where we’d like, from independent record stores and coffee shops to all the brands you know, and though a new Walmart opened last week, we will never have to step inside it.
There is diversity and difference here. There are museums and restaurants. There is music. There are state-of-the-art schools and hospitals. There are opportunities to learn, to listen, to do good, and to teach. I’m happy our son has the chance to learn and grow in this place.
I’m happy I do, too.
I am unhappy about the way I’ve written this, but I also cannot seem to make it better. This will have to do. I can also be thankful, I guess, for things that aren’t written easily.