For at least the last 25 years I have been eagerly anticipating the beginning of my life. Yes, I'm 36 years old with three children, the oldest of which is a freshman in high school. It's a bit ridiculous to still find myself asking, "When does my real life begin?" I keep waiting for this big, life changing moment and BOOM, my dreams come true and I am living out the life I always imagined. I keep believing happiness will flood in and every day from start to finish will drip with awesome and amazing. I keep thinking there is more than this.
I think I'm mistaken.
I was reminded again today that this is real life. It started a long time ago AND it is indescribably beautiful. That beauty is found in moments. Single, solitary moments that contain all the awesome I could ever imagine. Moments that are remembered. Moments that color my existence. Moments that are pieced together over time and deepen my person, defining ever more clearly what it means to be me. Moments that open my eyes to the joy that surrounds me, that is mine to enjoy, to treasure. Moments that cut through all the stress and hurt and ignite my entire being with such a happiness I can barely breathe.
In those moments, it really is enough to just be alive and to feel, to marvel at this wonder called life, and to be thankful, ever so thankful, that I'm here.
It's crazy I'm thinking
Just knowing that the world is round
Here I'm dancing on the ground
Am I right side up or upside down?
Is this real or am I dreaming?