Real talk? I think about death. A lot.

But when I make myself confront that my days are numbered, I am reminded to make the most of each day. In those moments, I remember that a day can hold so much.

A single day has time for chasing chickens and sharing popsicles.

Time for dancing and writing and discovering and comforting.

Time for books to be read and bread to be baked.

There’s time for busy AND bored in a single rotation of this rock we live on.

We often hear how the days are long, but I haven’t quite figured out why that’s so bad.