One year ago today, I wrote that I had started February to find and make a list of everything I find in my life that I love.
In the 12 months since I started that list, it has grown immensely, and I find myself noting more and more things in my everyday life that I want to add to the growing catalog.
One year ago today, I started a column by writing that I love pomegranates and dark chocolate, and today, in some sort of coincidental, full-circle moment, I sit here eating a bag of chocolate-covered pomegranate seeds.
In the year I’ve spent intentionally noting the parts of my life that I love, my love for everything has expanded. My love is greater, my list is longer, and my life has become something that I am excited to experience and find love in each day.
I love the weeks between winter and spring, filled with hope for the future and new sunlight dotting the floor in the hallway. I love it when the next book in a series is finally released, and I love it when I find a new musician to become obsessed with for the next month of my life.
I love people-watching, airports, and easy conversations about nothing important. I love baking with my friends, especially when they do most of the work. I love slow mornings and my record player; I love music pouring into my room, mingling with the cool spring air.
I love it when it finally becomes warm enough to open my window again and when I can hear the birds welcoming each other home.
I love putting flowers in my room and ribbons in my hair. I love red Converse, red nail polish, and my best friend’s red Jeep, especially in the summer when the doors are off. I love raincoats and wishes and 11:11.
I love Greek mythology, Oscar Wilde, naming constellations, and fire escapes on city buildings.
I love the last lines of books and when they shock me enough to make me think about them for days. I love apples in the fall and watermelon in the summer; I love watching the season change through the windows of the gym and the shade of my hair.
I love the bump on my finger that I have from writing, and I love strips of sunlight on the hallway floor. I love moon shadows and the movement of the stars at three in the morning. I love farmers’ markets and huge, artificially-colored lollipops.
I love Grand Haven—the city and the beach. I love Lake Michigan and falling asleep to the unceasing pounding of waves on the earth.
I love the fact that we could be wrong about everything in the universe, that everything we think we know is just a fraction of the truth that we will never discover. I love that eternity will stretch on and take me with it.
I love that nothing really matters, but I just spent an hour typing out the most mundane parts of my life that I worship every day.
I love that I could spend my whole life searching for some cosmic meaning that I will never encounter, and I love that I’ll fall in love with an infinite number of new things on the way.
