Such a large amount of happiness contained in such a small space.
(A sliding glass door, a window, a door, a closet, four walls; the sunshine streaming through the curtain, the bookcases full of words that I sometimes understand, sometimes not, the bed where I sleep peacefully and dream imaginatively, and in the corner, an abundance of canvas, paint and wood where I express and create pieces of myself and my views on the world. )
I often wonder how it is that I came to be who I am, and not someone else in a less fortunate situation. Sometimes I feel that unavoidable white middle class Americana guilt, but more often than not I know that it is slightly irrelevant, that there are many far better off than I, loads far worse and just as many on par. It simply is and has always been the state of things. This was a tangent from what I was trying to say, hah - that I don't really think it's the location of your life, or the amount of goods you posess, but rather the outlook you have and the connections you create with people. I think this is stemming from the visit my family paid me yesterday - I was and still am reberverating with this happiness from seeing them, because it is such a rare occurance.
