the smoke and the haze

Big fires are burning. People are dying. Nobody I know, so in a way, nobody is dying. But it just as easily could have been someone I knew. Then I would be saying, "Big fires are burning. Part of me has died."

I have some fantastic comforts that afford me the luxury of thinking about things that really matter. Spending time trying to peer through the haze.

Hot water - everyday, on command. The cool smoothness of a clean wood floor on my bare feet.

It's easy to say that the comforts I have aren't really what matter in life. And that's true, by the way; they aren't really what matter, but the point is that it's easy for me to say it because I already have them. Wake up, I have them. Go to bed, wake up, and I still have them.

I come from a time and place where not having those things was always on my mind. And getting them someday mattered a lot. There's no way my parents will ever know or understand how their decisions and circumstances drove me to be the way I am now. The times that there was smoke and haze were the times that awakened the part of me that vowed never to be choked of it.

I don't choke on it now, even though it is out there. Nobody is coughing, sputtering, or dying. Someday there might be choking - I've seen enough to know that. But I won't choke on it today, or tomorrow. Instead, there will be hot water for everyone.