needs. also titled: where I compare myself to the dog.

We have a needy dog.

She needs to walk. [Incidentally, so do I.]

She gets to go most days. [I should say we get to go.]

And she knows when the conditions are right for a walk – both John and I must be home. When John is gone, she knows the possibility does not exist. [She still begs, though, because –hey – just like you never know when food might fall to the floor, there is the chance that the leash might spontaneously attach to her collar.]

But on weekend mornings, because we're all home, she begs with heightened urgency. [Obnoxious? Yes.]

We walk, but by evening she seems to forget her morning romp. She demands another. [It's amazing how insistent non-verbal demands can be.]

Because she's not the only needy creature in this house, though, she never gets indulged with that second outing. There is dinner to make, games to play, dishes to wash, children to bathe. And then there's me.

I'm pretty needy, too.

I need calm. I need chocolate. I need order and a schedule and a plan. I need yoga. I need a good novel. Very acutely, I need John. I need blank notebooks and time to write in them. I need sunshine and to witness the quality of light at dawn and dusk. I need reassurance. I need something to look forward to. I need family. I need to talk it out and keep it in. I need balance. I need my bed. I need to surf the web. I need to deeply inhale the scent of my baby's skin. I need inspiration. I need direction. I need to hear my children's laughter. I need solitude.

And whenever I meet one of these needs, my soul begs for more. I'm insatiable. [Yes, somehow, just like the dog. We're all living creatures.]

Sometimes I overwhelm myself [and others?] with my cavernous need, especially because all the basics are always all covered. But as much as I need to breathe and to eat and stay warm, I need to find beauty and peace and reflection and self. I need space.

What do you need?