And the question is – what is actually sacred?
Marker on the couch.
Scratches on the hardwood.
Stains on the carpet.
Who actually cares?
We are living. That’s what matters. Will I really give a crap that my floors are pristine or that I resold the house for maximum return when I’m dead? No.
Material possessions are nice but they don’t really matter much in the grand scheme of things. What matters is that my son learns to draw. Or that our friends can wear their shoes in our house and feel comfortable. Or that we spend our time caring about human interaction and not what amount of money it’s worth or can bring us.
What is sacred?
My son’s smile.
The moments we spend together.
The joy we fill the house with.
The living.
