Every short person knows this scene:
The coffee mugs are on the top shelf in the cabinet. The supply is depleted and the few remaining are just out of arm's reach. You can just barely touch one cup with your fingertip. Ever so slightly you turn the mug, one fingertip's push at a time, until the handle turns to you. Then the cup is yours. Tea awaits.
I'm in that fingertip pushing moment. Frustrated. Stretched. Maybe even slightly in pain. I know (at least I think I know) that the cup will turn and the handle will appear, but in this moment, the handle is out of reach, out of grasp, beyond my comprehension. Relief is a thing for the foolish.
But I am foolish. And determined.
May you be foolish and determined, too.