I read in a survey that the average American only has 15 “perfect days” per year. When I first came across these words, my eyebrows furrowed. A “perfect day”—What does that even mean? Is it the same for everyone? Different? Is it measurable? And why are there so little of these days that we’re truly experiencing? Continue reading
We are all so desperate to find happiness, to hold it within our palms, to tuck it away in some corner of our minds our hearts, to claim it as ours. This is human, natural. It’s not wrong to want to experience joy, to grab onto it for as long as we can.
But have you ever noticed how much time we spend searching? Have you ever stopped to see that perhaps you don’t always have to be looking, running, living in frantic pursuit of what you don’t yet have because what you do have is enough? Continue reading
Sometimes you’re fifteen, staring out the window of a car, pressing your nose against the glass as the highway blurs past your vision. You’re wondering whether he loves you, what you’ll do if he doesn’t. You’re imagining yourself years down the road, maybe in your own car, driver’s seat. Perhaps you’ll finally have it all figured out, maybe even be happy. A warmth bubbles in your chest and you hold onto that feeling as long as you can. One day, you think, one day.
Sometimes you’re twenty-three, washing dishes in a five-bedroom house, your roommates walking around in guarded silence, everyone far too busy to sit down and talk. You watch the weeds dance in the summer wind right beyond the kitchen window. You wonder what you’re doing here, what you’ll do next. You’re wondering if you’ll ever get over him, if that hole in your heart will ever heal. You’re thinking of yourself somewhere else, maybe a house of your own with windows overlooking the ocean. One day, you think, one day. Continue reading