The other day an old friend I hadn’t spoken to in a while asked me about my column. What do you write about? he wanted to know, which is always a tricky question for me to try to answer in a way that sounds like I’m actually a “real” writer, because saying Oh, you know, I just go with off-hand ideas and random observations sounds a little too “by the seat of my pants” to seem legit. But… here we are. Do you write about political issues? he wanted to know. And I told him I try to stay away from all that.

There’s already too many people doing too much talking in that department and I’d rather contribute something more positive to an already over-burdened mode of media. Oh, so you write about things like the smell of lilacs in the spring, and stuff like that, he surmised. And although at first, admittedly, I felt the faint sting of being slighted for authoring a “fluff piece,” upon further reflection I decided that perhaps at this particular time, a bit of fluff may not be such a bad thing. Soft and downy. These are synonyms listed in Webster’s that bring to mind the peaceful feeling of watching cottonwood tufts adrift in the golden light of a summer afternoon, or the impossible softness of a little baby chick. Or if used as a verb, fluff can mean to make fuller and softer by shaking or brushing. I like the idea of writing something lofty and light, or shaking out a point to its fuller and perhaps softer potential.

When our current affairs with our wars and shootings and celebrity ridiculousness and continual political sparring is too much to take in and swallow whole day after day, considering something downy and light seems not so much trivial as necessary. Celebrating what’s right in the world, and in life, is just as important as rehashing all the bad (more so in my opinion.) The tough work of buoying the spirit of this great country is everyone’s job, and it helps to remind each other of that fact from time to time. We aren’t so divided when we’re enjoying a baseball game, standing for the anthem with our hand on our heart, and being part of a line of twelve people passing a hotdog to the freckled kid sitting with his dad for his first real game. Or on those fishing trips where you ask the guy on the bank What are they biting on? and he tells you, and in the next 30 minutes you proceed to fill your cooler with 22 fish (true story).

Even though we live in a far from perfect world there are still many opportunities to connect with each other in meaningful ways, and much for which to be grateful. Those are the stories that matter most— the ones that remind us we’re all in this together, and none of us are getting out alive anyway so we might as well smile, lend a hand when and where it’s needed, appreciate the beauty that’s all around us, and quit with the griping. I could argue that sort of content is not fluff at all, but serious material to write about. But then I would miss out on the pleasure of describing the sweet heady fragrance of all the lilacs abloom in the spring. Lisa Hare is a former AP journalist and member of the Society of Environmental Journalists, as well as an author. To see more of Lisa’s work, or to contact her, visit: www. lisa-hare.com .