Lack (& baked beans)
You know what? I’ve always picked from lack.
(I know I always start with a question. But we all like a little rhythm, don’t we?
Rhythm is sexy. –grins)
No—not slack.
Lack.
People don’t know what that means when you say it.
They’ll even ask, “Lack?”
The Trey definition of lack:
I am unworthy.
I am not good enough.
I am undeserving.
I am unlucky.
I am unlovable.
I am not handsome enough.
I am (insert a lie here)—
You get the idea.
Picking anything from lack is going to end poorly.
I mean, how does one make a BLT with the notion that they are just a jar of mayo without enough to spread across the toast?
Or the 9:00 PM wilted bouquet of Valentine’s Day roses?
Or the sole buttered popcorn left strewn in the bucket with the kernels?
Or the last kid left for kickball?
Or the gay teen in youth group?
Lack.
When you look at your life through the shade of that lens, you know what you find?
You find you lack.
(I mean, Pythagoras or what?)
I’m not here to tell you that you don’t lack. Maybe you do suck (doubtful, but let’s humor it).
Maybe you’re the leftover baked beans in the tin burner pan. Ripe for the garbage.
Maybe you’re the mangled, opened and discarded, car-melted candy bar.
Maybe you’re nothing more than you were the day the boy left you.
Maybe you’re not.
Maybe you’re the beat when Lauv hits:
“To be young and in love in New York City—”
Or Gran’s glazed pound cake.
Maybe you’re Thib’s voice as you answer the phone:
“Friend, what are you doing?”
Maybe you’re the breeze from a 31st-floor balcony in the A.
Maybe you’re a handsome boy smiling as he enters the restaurant.
Green eyes meeting blue eyes.
New butterflies in the heart (swoon).
Or your mother’s hand on your face.
Maybe you’re the buttery, flaky smell of Texas toast.
Or Kel’s new baby (we’ve been waiting for you, sir).
Maybe you’re the powdered, sugary goodness of a sandtart cookie.
Maybe you’re the chime of the bells from the Methodist Church on Peachtree as you sip a fizzy citrusy G&T.
Maybe you’re the first hummingbird of spring.
Maybe.
Maybe you’re more than “lack.”
Maybe you’re just more—