Take a deep breath inventory Of yourself Do not count your hands or feet Not your wandering legs or Wavering arms Do not take inventory of your clothes Not of your favorite shoes or Your special hat—not even your Coat that you save for those cold, Cold nights Ignore your car—payments or paid off Your home—apartment, trailer, mansion Your work uniform—whatever that may be
Make emergency stops only You are still several miles from The intersection of contentment and identity And you have not been there In far too long Do not take inventory of how you look In a summer dress or a tuxedo and bowtie Don’t count your history with Drugs and alcohol Don’t count your computer, your television Or that collection of movies Or albums Or books that you’ve been working on Don’t take account of your ability to curl Dead weight It’s just curling dead weight Don’t count the number of visible abs You have Or your BMI
You are so much more than a body You are so much more than possessions Your body and belongings have not Done you well to feel like you belong
Instead take inventory of your joy You have some joy don’t you?
Count your friends Count your love letters Count the moments when it rains And you have an umbrella Count the last time you had strawberries Count the start of every kiss Count the paid off credit cards Actually, count those twice Because freedom counts for twice as much Account for all of your freedoms Take inventory of playing catch with your dad Your last home-cooked meal Account for the last time you rode a bike When you didn’t think about exercise, you just felt the wind Count the times you wrapped birthday presents Count the smell of the last bouquet of flowers you were given Count the last time you went to the zoo And you swore, nobody ever fell in love with the Animals quite like you did Cause you have an eye for beauty And you’re seeing it everywhere Take a deep breath inventory of the beauty you have seen
And when you can’t seem to find anything that matters To take inventory of Count those dark moments where you still Have the hope to rack your brain To try to find a memory where you had joy If you still have hope to try to find it That is joyful All on its own Because I know they can be hard to find sometimes Those things worth taking inventory of But I have found the greatest of these things is love Not the way I love Pulp Fiction and Casablanca But the way I love my wife And my father and my mother And a good rescue Cause that is what I’ve had—a good rescue And life is sweet like honey Not because it’s easy And certainly not because I feel good all the time But because I have found joy in a rescued life that I can hope in When I take a deep breath inventory I have to realize all I have is love The rest will go away someday But not my hope and joy and love