I’m finding the contentedness of a person who is finally finding her footing. I’m realizing that I may cry because it is cold (word from the wise: tears streaming down your face only makes you colder), but I’m focusing on those moments that are wonderful. Like finding a wine store across the street, or walking to work in 15 minutes, creating an inviting home with a wonderful roommate (of whom I met online), or buying winter boots that make the snow less scary…
But just when you think life feels all sorted… love gets in the way, or maybe it was like; regardless it happened (retrospectively) in the best kind of way. This evening, I read this, and it just felt right:
Sometimes the rug getting ripped out from underneath you is the best thing that can happen to you. It keeps you grounded. It makes you appreciate what you have. It also gives you a heavy dose of humility. So if I had one piece of advice, it’s to love as hard as you can. Give today everything you have. It’s better to feel worn out at the end of the day from being the best person you possibly could have been than calling in for a mediocre day – via The Better Man Project
And so, with humility of someone who has had my fair share of rugs getting ripped out from under me: I come at life giving everything I have. I’m shaking off mediocrity and finding the pure joy in, well, this life I have created.
The everyday is great like that.
I am tired. I realised this as I was having lunch with a friend. She pointed it out.
And I told her, “I am still scared.”
Today, Twizzlers came from the parents. And she said, “at least there were Twizzlers.” I shared them with joy.
And yesterday, I drank deeply of a cappuccino.
But whats weird? I am still happy. I am not falling into a pit of despair.
I am at a place where my happiness isn’t based on circumstance but rather purpose.
I have found my purpose, my calling. And there are moments when I laugh, and forget the fear and remember the purpose. It’s what drives me.
The fear? It’s not taking over. I mean, it’s there… at the pit of my stomach, the edges of my subconscious. But I push forward by admitting the fear – I loudly acknowledge it. And then I laugh over dinner with friends; warm fires with wine. And I purposely get through my list of tasks. Happily knowing that this isn’t my forever, and that today I can trust that my purpose is bigger than my fear.