I love falling asleep after a day of surfing and still feeling the waves move across my sore body. I love thrift stores. I love witnessing someone else's moment in the spotlight or day in the sun. I love when my seven year old interrupts with "Are you open?" so he can ask a question or give me a hug. I love planting in the container garden, hands in the soil and dirt under my nails. I love Sandra's homemade lemonchello. I especially love when she hands me a glass and says, "Hey doll, this is for you." I love the feeling of volunteering more than working, doing something useful but not needing anything in return. I love when my son asks things like "Where do people keep racism?" or "Who invented money because it beat up the world?" I love that I can call my parents on the telephone but love most of all that I want to. I love figuring out how to put the pieces together – rounding up what is available and making it work. I love going on a run in a new city and getting lost. I love my daughter borrowing my clothes. Yes, secretly I do. I love the butternut squash ravioli at 2223. I love museums. I love samba dancing and feeling the beating drums all the way down to my bones. I love maps. I love walking on clean wood floors. I love serendipity and the feeling of possibility. I love the comfort of knowing life is unfolding exactly as it should.