It feels so nice to be happy to be home….
I walked through the apartment and was happy to see all of our things: my plants, my kitchen; the familiar way the light filters in through the blinds. Every simple little thing brought me joy, from walking around in my underwear to making coffee and putting away dishes in my little kitchen. The trees have all gone green in the week that we were gone, and they have that wonderful newborn green color that only early spring brings. All the leaves are not full grown yet, so the scene outside my window seems like a pointillism painting; like a fuzzy vibrating texture of thousands of miniature leaves on big, full-grown tree limbs. I got a particular sense of joy and satisfaction when I put an empty egg carton into the paper side of my recycle bin, loving that recycling is part of my life, after having come from a home where everything is thrown right into the garbage…all going to the same wasteful graveyards of the worlds landfills.
I am happy.
I am not making an adult-with-a-BFA-worthy amount of money, I have not lost the 10 pounds I have been talking about for a year, I still don’t have a plan, only a “what-the-plan-isn’t” plan and I have a long list of promises I have made to myself but haven’t kept.
I do have a job, I have lost four of the ten pounds and I have plenty of hope and optimism in my heart to keep me working towards all the other stuff. I have love. This makes me one of the luckiest people on earth.
Every return home like this is a reminder of the days when home was not such a happy place – when my heart ached for some nameless thing and felt no such comfort. So, for all of the things I may not have accomplished yet, I know that my life is in a happy place.