My husband walks to the creek with our daughter. She picks up pebbles and rocks and throws them into the water. Total awe every single time it lands.
“Papa?” she says and hands him a rock to throw. He tosses it in and she giggles as the ripples wave out to the edge.
“What should I be doing, M?”, he asks our daughter.
“What should I be doing?”, he asks again.
Three, four more times.
“What else should I be doing, M?”
She looks up at him and smiles, her gap-toothed beautiful grin that lights up the world.
“Oh” he says to himself, “this is what I should be doing. Throwing rocks in the agua with my daughter.”
“There is nothing else.”
And this is his truth. Days of strolling down the neighborhood, waving hello to construction workers and fellow East siders. Walking down to the creek then over the bridge to the garden to see the chickens. Pina, yes, Pina the robust and bossy, rooster bites her finger almost every time. She still goes to him. We spread out under the pavillion, her buffet of breakfast and water to pick from as she runs around. Sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. Then over to the choo choo train, across to Houndstooth, sometimes for a warm oatmilk or an almond croissant.
At home, after our walk, I get cozy in my bed and start to create. I see my friends and colleagues putting out offerings and launches. I wonder if I’m behind.
I wonder if I should be doing more.
What else should I be doing, universe?
Is raising a babe, keeping the compound light and bright and sometimes seeing clients enough?
My mind keeps asking, my inner voice knows my truth.
It is always enough. There is nothing else.
We explore Zilker park and find an opening through the trees. I pick up M Sol and shimmy down the hill to the Town Lake trail. We walk one direction and watch the brave jump off the bridge.
Splash and more splash. Looks up at me with eyes of wonder that say “that’s me, jumping in, can you see it?”
We walk the other direction and a super cool teenage couple stop what they’re doing to say hello to my waving daughter. They stare at her and smile, “she’s so cute”.
A bit further, there are rocks where I can dip her into the water without mama getting in. She can stand and play on her own.
“A little further, Bean and you can play, play, play.”
We find the rock steps and she climbs down. Waterproof shoes on for the win.
She screams in excitement ‘aqua, aqua!’ and my mind stops asking.
There is nothing else.