Commitment

My husband uses words sparingly, but when he does he is insightful.

The other morning we were in bed, cozy and content, luxuriating in those last moments before we had to get up, when he said, “Getting up is a commitment”.

I laughed out loud. Those five words tell the whole story.

The commitment begins when our feet hit the floor each morning and continues until late at night when we fall into bed. I was still laughing as I went downstairs to feed and water our herd of rescue cats, clean multiple litter boxes, sweep floors and mop up fur balls. Then I opened the garage door to feed the outside stray cats who have found safe harbor in our yard.

Once upstairs, I made breakfast (minus coffee) and then did morning exercises, my commitment to staying in shape.

In the meantime, my husband was doling out various medicines to our aging animals and brewing lattes, his commitment to providing great coffee every morning.

The day proceeded with commitments to our jobs, communicating with family and friends, cooking up “slow food” and being part of a neighborhood.

Country living is not as impersonal as city life. Caring and sharing with neighbors is a way of life where we live. We have been the recipients of a wealth of home grown produce from our neighbors this summer, and we do our best to reciprocate. My husband excels in this department by sharing his talents in all things technical.

Another huge area of commitment is to “stuff”. “Don’t have it if you can’t take care of it” is a motto we both subscribe to. Since it’s no secret that stuff of all kinds needs constant maintenance and repair, much time is spent keeping the house and yard from reverting to disarray.

Painful as it is in these surreal times in America, being an informed citizen also takes a portion of each day. We may not want to know the day’s news, but being willfully ignorant is not a path either one of us wants to take.

So getting up is a commitment. It is also a privilege and an excellent investment in happiness.