Last night I was writing in my office, and I suddenly stopped and thought to myself, I am writing in my office. I actually stopped, took stock of these things:

I am a writer.

I have a house with an office in it that I can write in.

I have these things because of writing that I have written. 

HOW DID THIS EVEN COME TO BE? 

And then 35 years of ink smeared on my left hand and two dollar bills from Sunday School teachers and crying in the rain over bad reviews swept past. I took a picture with my phone and then my eyes and then my mind, so that I might never forget to fully note what’s happening right in front of me, and how every moment lived has led to it.