My boyfriend told me today that life is what happens in the minutia.
He's right. He usually is. (He'll disagree with me on that one, but don't listen to him.)
Life has many big moments, of course. There is birth and death, marriage and divorce, hirings and firings. There are magnificent highs and horrifying lows.
But, honestly, I've always been more fond of the little things. I've talked before about the little things in relationships and how important they are. But the little things aren't just reserved for love and friendship. They're everywhere.
And even though I sometimes get hung up on the big moments, on the milestones and exciting news, I've actually always been a girl with an eye for details. I notice things. I notice people. And I have way too many accessories for my own good. I should know, I just reorganized half of them.
So it's fitting that this week has been almost exclusively about little things, about the seemingly unimportant things.
It's been about tearing up at the groom's speech at the Valentine's Day wedding I worked. He was adorable and gushing and kept telling his bride that he would never take her for granted, which hit me harder than I expected. I hope that his promise means that he will appreciate the minutia of married life and will take time to do the small, not-at-all unimportant things that end up meaning so much in the days and years to come.
It's been about trying to improve the little things. Now that I've got overall happiness, working appliances, a healthy love and social life, it's time to fill in the details. I don't just mean going to the gym and to pole class, but trying to get my life organized. Trying to be functional both at home and at the office, and to make both a little more aesthetically pleasing. All of which lead to an impromptu IKEA trip on Tuesday to buy a few little things to get started on making my work space more me, or to start "classing up the place," as Ben said. (Naturally, and in the spirit of being the resident vintage girl at Fish Eye Fun, I'm going for as 1960s Mad Men as possible with my office space.)
This week has also been about buying a pocket calendar to keep track of the days I write. Another little thing. Mark has his own to keep track of the days he works on projects, and I fully admit that I stole the idea from him. So far, I think it's helped me. For one thing, I love a challenge. For another, the thought of all the things we both want to do and accomplish is overwhelming if I don't do something to make it less daunting.
I keep saying that I want to "get back to writing," which is as overwhelmingly vague as it gets. It's terrifying, really, to think about writing a book, or even a short story, or (sometimes) even a poem. Or making a work of art, or a work bench. None of this is going to happen in a day. It's far better, far more digestible, to think about the individual pieces. Write something. Anything. Even if I hate it and throw it away the next day. Or even if it's this blog. It's better than nothing. It's the little things, again. It's nailing on one board, writing one paragraph, drawing one rough sketch. It's the only way progress can ever be made, and I forget that all too often amongst all the big tumultuous things that have happened recently.
Finally, this week has been about the minute hand on my living room clock repeatedly falling off. That really doesn't mean a damn thing except that it needs to be fixed, but it does tie in nicely to the theme of the week. I suppose I could make some poetic comparison about that missing minute hand being subtle reminder to pay attention to the minute things, but Lord, that's going a bit far, don't you think?