Guest Blog by Kimberly Hinton

Make someone happy. Make just one someone happy,
and you will be happy too.
~ Jimmy Durante

On receiving this assignment to write a blog post on the theme of living with intent, I asked Tom, my husband, what is his intent for living? 

His answer was simple: “My intent is you and us.”

This answer once again served to piss me off (many of his answers piss me off).
“That’s it?” I said annoyed.
“Yes” he replied.
“No other intentions?” I asked, my annoyance growing.
“Nope, well,” he says, “maybe also the kids and grandkids.”

My jaw drops. “And that’s it?”
“I think so,” he says then pauses. “Yes.”

I stop to think about his answer. I mean, for days, DAYS, ever since getting challenged to write this post, I had read articles, watched experts on videos, searched for poetry and books, I listened to audio books all searching for what to say,  and this annoying man just pops out with THAT: “You and us,” what absolute bullshit.

It is difficult to overexaggerate how challenging these past two years have been for me. Turns out, I’m a pandemic wimp. I’m whiny, depressed, overwhelmed, sad – all the negative emotions are a ball of fire in my stomach most days. I’m not taking it well and the longer it goes on, the worse I handle it, so there’s that. 

I miss everything. I miss singing with other people. I miss crowded movie theaters and attending crowded plays. I miss gathering to make homeless shelter meals. I miss hanging out with others and doing service. I miss people’s faces. I miss quick and spontaneous lunches and meeting others for supper. I miss parties. I miss fundraisers. I miss church. I miss my Dad, who died after getting the damned COVID. I miss my kids and grandkids. I miss the lack of worry about making others sick or getting sick myself. I miss travel. I miss jumping on a boat to Victoria.

I miss everything.

And I have been focused on that.

But my husband, who is surviving and happy and thriving (he’s actually lost weight) during this damned pandemic, just answers: “You and us” as his intent for living.

I think about how he lives his days. He wakes in the morning, goes down to the living room and lights the woodstove, then he makes coffee and breakfast. For breakfast, he goes to the yard and if there are huckleberries on the bushes, he pulls off enough for four pancakes. He makes us four pancakes, an egg, two strips of bacon and some fresh coffee. After my shower, I come down and there it all is, warm and ready because he has been listening to my movements and he times his cooking to my routine. We sit and eat together. It’s always perfect and delicious.

During the daytime, he listens to NPR while he does little tasks: paying bills, fixing cars, fixing whatever else needs fixing, taking the dog for a walk, brushing the cats and making sure their heated bed is working in the garage. He’s retired now and home all the time. He works for me and my business now. He sells jewelry at my booth on some days in Seattle. He walks onto the ferry, sets up my booth, and tells me he spends all day bragging about my talent (others tell me this also). He is constantly living in the moment.

He reminds me of a singer at an open mic I attended in Portland.  He had written lyrics to a catchy little tune and one of the lines was; “The man who never tried to save the world, never did any harm in the first place.” 

I think my husband may be a saint. 

My intent has always been more complicated than that. It was a large band with many instruments and a group of untrained musicians that resulted in a world full of obnoxious sound.

My husband is right. My intent was too much for a pandemic world. Maybe it was too much for any world. I intended too many things. I thought I would fight to save the world. I couldn’t even save myself. Happiness is perhaps found in smaller intent. Happiness is found in the “You” or “Us” or both.

So this morning, I woke early, I made him breakfast after we cuddled. I made waffles and eggs and coffee. Later, we may take a drive or go for a walk. He has my full intent.

This morning, it’s enough. I’m content. My heart has calmed, my anxiety decreased. And again, I am basking in the wonder of a life with a person whose wisdom is broad enough to magically cure the world.