It’s Friday night; I’m home after a long day. I traveled to Holmes County today, ran work errands, caught up on email, then got things together for tomorrow’s event. I’m finally sitting down to write, sip wine, and enjoy the quiet. I stop, ponder the moment, marvel at how I got here without even noticing it.
I’m not referring to how I physically got here today. I’m talking about how I got here, in life. As I sit in a mostly noiseless house, I listen to the fridge hum and the dogs snore. I recognize that I’m in a totally different place than just five years ago — physically, mentally, spiritually. M was thirteen. We were busy all the time. And when we weren’t running for sports, school functions, and young teen hangouts, we were gathering with friends with kids in tow. Friday nights these days aren’t like they used to be. I don’t mind it, but there is some nostalgia and angst in looking back.
I’m settled. It feels nice. It occurs to me that I’m becoming my mom. I never thought I’d become her, and while I’m different in many ways, I never considered I’d be anything like her. (It’s not a bad thing. I just didn’t consider it.) I’m a homebody who prefers reading over most other activities, just like my mom. Maybe it’s that way for all of us. We don’t notice the way life moves, day by day. Suddenly we simply ‘arrive.’ Of course it’s been happening all along, but when life is busy, it’s hard to reflect. It’s hard to clearly see.
What happens next? Will I be more mindful in my middle years? Will I be more brave? I hope so. I think a lot about where I’ve been and where I’m going. This age has merit and context and, dare I say, wisdom? I look forward to my days. I don’t feel as though I’m going through the motions at all. I hope I never do. For now I believe I’ll enjoy this simple glass of Pinot Grigio in my quiet home, and bed before ten sounds amazing.