I received a pair of green rain boots for my 7th birthday. We lived in green house on Van Dyke road. It being spring, I vowed to wear them, rain or shine, every day until the grass was the same color. I didn’t know the word palette then, but I knew what I felt, and “how glorious,” I thought, if I could run green-footed in the green grass in front of our green house.
Spring came as promised, and I, feet blistered, and perhaps a little smelly, was a part of it all. I belonged.
I suppose that’s what we all want — to be a natural part of things. Without the need for invitation, to just belong. And it was, glorious! Glorious to find out that this wasn’t a place at all, but a feeling. A feeling I could not only create, but carry with me, anywhere.
You can wait your whole life and not receive an invitation. You have to give that to yourself. Step into your own palette. Wake up and say, “I’m here.” Wake up and know that it all matters. That you matter!
My husband asked me yesterday why I was bringing in his old green rain boots from the garage. “Because you’re part of my palette,” I said. He smiled. We are home. Glorious!