Because I see my doctor once a year, more or less, I was surprised that she remembered me.

“You are a writer, aren’t you?” was her cheerful greeting.  Of course, I was *writing* in my journal as she came into the exam room.

[My first impulse is to refute her.  Well...um...not really. I snapped my fingers at my internal skeptic. An internal finger snap, don't you know.]

“Yes,” I smiled, “Yes, I am.”

[Come on! Are you serious? Who is going to believe that? It looked like snapping wasn't enough; I think my alter ego needed a slap down.]

The nurse joined the conversation: “What do you write about?” 

A quick breath, a smile…

“Well, I love to read and review books. And I like to search for truth, beauty and goodness in life…and write about what I’ve found.”

[Oh, great! You sound like a corporate mission statement.  My inner skeptic rolled her eyes.] 

“…and highlight simple pleasures…”

[Stop! That's enough!! It was now a good time to obey that inner voice.]

I closed my mouth.

“I think it’s great,” my doctor replied, as she donned her latex gloves.

And that, my friends, was a simple conversation worth celebrating.