Somehow, the day and week came without me sitting down to write one word about the momentous occasion. I've officially occupied the planet now for more than four decades. Amazingly, I feel neither old nor as though I've become any more certain about why I'm even here.
But I was thinking that maybe the question is irrelevant; that rather, the answer is found in what one does, who one is, and how one lives.
Last week, I took time and enjoyed a few of my favorite things: family, friends, the arts, tea, books, fun, football, Italian food. I did this without guilt, even when my kids stayed with my parents an extra night, giving me some much needed and long overdue down time alone with my husband.
This week, a world of responsibilities is calling me back to reality: Christmas, shopping, cleaning, laundry, winter break. I made a few changes last week and I'm determined to stick with these, but always it's the battle in my head that wages the most vicious war.
So when a blah moment wanted to come over me today, I looked into the eyes of my 7-year-old who was ecstatic to be home again and throwing the football with me. I touched the hand of my husband who should have been doing homework (he has a 4.0 to maintain, after all!) but was instead enjoying a movie with us after making sliders. I snuggled with my 9-year-old who was, oddly enough, cold and under a blanket and in need of mommy's arm.
And in the simplest of terms, I knew. I knew, and I always will know, why I'm here.
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