Everything I ever wanted
This afternoon — standing at the kitchen counter, glancing up to look at my daughters playing in the afternoon sunshine, kneading a hunk of pizza dough for their dinner, vaguely aware of an NPR commentator intoning in the background — this afternoon, I felt a sudden realization. This is everything I ever wanted.
It’s a feeling that can’t be forced, I find. I remember having the same epiphany one day in college, walking uphill to a morning class one fall. My book bag was heavy against my back, and I was taking in the Vermont fall colors, thinking about the date I would have with my new boyfriend that evening — the boyfriend who I already kind of knew, deep down, would one day be my husband. And a little bubble of happiness popped, and I realized: This is it. This is what I’d been waiting for.
I know the mood won’t last — I know I’ll be griping about some small thing, maybe even ten minutes from now. But when contentment settles in, I have to stop and notice.
