THE WORDS I CARRY · 05
By Casey Edwards
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My wishes deserve a place in the life I am making.
There is a kind of question I can answer almost before it has been asked. What needs doing? Who needs help? What have I forgotten? Give me a moment and I can usually produce a list, possibly with a second list attached.
Ask me what I want, and sometimes I need longer.
I might begin with something useful. I want to finish the work. I want everyone to be all right. I want to get through the week without another surprise. Those answers are true, but there is often something else waiting behind them, wondering whether this is a suitable time to speak.
It might be a book I want to write. A place I want to see. An afternoon spent making something that has absolutely no plans to become practical.
Scotland is still there, for instance. So are the poems I haven’t found the words for yet. And apparently there will always be room in my imagination for another beautiful notebook, even when the shelf has filed a formal complaint.
These are the words I want to carry: My wishes deserve a place in the life I am making.
I like the modesty of a place. A wish doesn’t have to take over the house. It can have a chair. It can be mentioned in conversation without arriving with a budget, a deadline, and three references.
I am learning to let myself say, “I would like that,” and hear the sentence before I start editing it.
How I Carry These Words
Wanting can feel surprisingly exposed. Once I name something, I have admitted that it matters to me. It may take longer than I hope. It may change. Someone may fail to understand why I care about it.
I would still like to know what it is.
My body has a say in the plans I make. So does the money available, the time I have, and the care that an ordinary week requires. I want to consider those things honestly while giving my wishes enough time to become clear.
Perhaps the trip begins with a page in a notebook. Perhaps the book begins with one paragraph I keep returning to. Perhaps I want to paint for an hour, and the entire point is that I enjoyed the hour.
I can give a wish a small place in the week without promising what it will become.
I also want to notice which wishes belong to me now. Some were inherited from an earlier version of my life. Some sounded impressive when I said them aloud but never made me curious enough to begin. I am allowed to set those down and listen again.
There is pleasure in discovering a preference without defending it. This color. That story. A seat beside the window. More time with the person who makes me laugh.
And there is something lovely about letting the people who care for me hear an answer beyond “Whatever you want is fine.” They might like to know which song I would choose.
I do have a song in mind. Several, actually. This may become a longer conversation.
For now, I want to leave a little room on the page for what interests me. I want my own handwriting to appear beneath the heading “Things I would love.”
Some of those things will need patience. Some can begin this afternoon. A few may remain beautiful possibilities, and I can still be glad I let myself imagine them.
The glitter, however, has already been approved.
One Quiet Question
What would you like to make room for if you could name the wish before explaining how you will make it happen?
You can begin with “I would love…” and let the answer be as ordinary or as ambitious as it wants to be.
May you hear your own wishes with interest. May one of them find a little room in your day.
Until our next visit, I’ll leave the porch light on.
With love,
Casey
Take These Words With You
Tuck the purple cup into your journal, keep it beside your desk, or save it for a day when your own wishes need a little room.
Print the card sheet · Open the 4 × 6 inch card PDF · Save the card image
For regular printer paper, print page 4 of the complete set at Actual Size / 100% and trim at the corner marks.
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