Just a few minutes ago I mentioned (well, it was more than a mere mention; it was something very carefully thought out) some feelings about writing and life that you can scroll down to in case you missed them.

Now, my Inner Overthinker has emerged, which means I’ve rethought what I wrote, and that has led me in a whole other direction. (Or maybe not so other. You be the judge.)

Anyway:

For many years (during which I was a writer so active that I had very little awareness of what existed all around me) I believed I’d be the only person in the world who, on their death bed, said, “I wish I’d had time to work even more!”

Mornings like this one make me realize that was total bullshit. The only truth to what I told myself was the false reality of nonsense. The plain fact is that nothing I’ve ever imagined has felt as good as awakening beside the woman I love, in a home filled with sunshine, and getting a phone call or text or email from one of my children or grandchildren.

So plebian. Outrageously mundane.

But true. Genuine.

The beauty of this spring morning strips me of the lies I’ve told myself over and over, and I’m more grateful than I ever would have imagined that I’m here to engage with all that this very real world offers.

Wow, Brody, just think of the joy summer may bring.

(Uh-oh, this is really going to ruin my rep, isn’t it?)