I hope you have a good day today. I don’t mean an oh-my-God-I-won-the-lotter
No, I hope you have a plain, old-fashioned good day.
Like when an old friend calls and you talk for three hours. Or when you hear “Always On My Mind” on the radio.
I hope you meet someone who impresses you. Like the man I met at Lowe’s yesterday.
He had no legs and one arm. He drove a motorized wheelchair. He was buying supplies to fix his bathroom sink. His young son walked beside him.
We had a conversation, waiting in line. Before I left, the man shook my hand and said, “Hey man, I hope you have a good day.”
Anyway, today I hope someone you love tells you how they feel about you—even if you already know it. And I double-hope they show you. No. I triple-hope it. Quadruple-hope. Times infinity.
May you get kissed by a dog, a kid, or anyone with white hair. I hope you kiss back. Kisses get hard to come by once you get lines on your face.
I hope you forget about people who did you wrong. And when you try to recall painful times, I hope you can’t remember a damn one.
I hope you think about your granddaddy. Or your granny. Anyone who called you, “child,” “young’un,” or, “baby.” And may you remember what kind of simple world this place was when you were young.
I hope you feel important.
And I hope someone tells you how nice you look. It’s good to feel attractive. And, by God, you are.
I hope you eat something rich. I’m talking food your doctor warns you about. Such as: vanilla ice cream with caramel, fried chicken from a paper bucket, a Dean’s layer cake, a chili-dog with extra onions.
I hope you sit on a sofa and watch something in black-and-white. And when the hero gets the girl, I hope you saw it coming.
I hope you sit outside tonight, like I’m doing. And I hope you feel it.
It. The stuff floating around you.
I don’t know what it is. I can’t see it, smell it, touch, or taste it, but it’s there. I wish I knew more about it, but then again, I don’t want to. That might ruin it.
Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s in ornate cathedrals, bestselling self-help books, careers, popularity, or five easy payments of $19.99. Or in your wallet.
I believe it’s in these stars. These longleaf pines. In good dogs, toddlers, music, and mamas.
And in men who only have only one limb. Who still spend Monday afternoons at hardware stores.
Whoever you are, I hope you know that a complete stranger is thinking about you tonight. This stranger wishes he had a magic wand, and could make your life into all the things you want it to be. But that’s not how it works.
So I’ll just tell you what a beautiful stranger once said to me:
I hope you have a good day.