I choose to love my life...because it really is wonderful! (Thirties: Part 3)


This past week, past few months really, I've been complaining about the space I inhabit in my life.  There are so many things that I need or want that I almost feel like a kid and not an adult.  I took stock on all of the things, mostly materialistic, that I needed in order to feel like my life was on the right track.  Some of the things on the list were: winter boots, sheets that not only match but fit the bed, a comforter that fits the bed, curtains, new clothes, a full time job that will lead to a career, a pair of high heels and a dental appointment.

Tonight, when I got home from work and started folding the mismatched/hand-me-down laundry, I had a realization.  This is the life I imagined when I was younger.  As a kid I thought mismatched, wonky towels and sheets meant that you lived an interesting life.  It meant that you had been places, that you collected memories and not "things."  I believed that in order to live the life of a writer, things would be messy from time to time, both financially and emotionally.  Old sheets and a previously owned couch just meant you had a creative life that didn't always allow you to have new and shiny objects.  As an adult, I lost sight of this perspective.

I am still trying to find the balance and beauty between worn out towels and a rich creative life.  Every day I experience contradictory emotions that are both uplifting and confusing.  I haven't figured anything out yet, and from what I can tell, that's ok.

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