It occurred to me yesterday, not for the first time, that I am settling. I know, I know, "settling" has a bad connotation these days. It's giving up on your dreams, taking less than you deserve, copping out. The mortal sins of the Society of Me. After all, I opted out of grad school in favor of marrying The Man, starting a family and - gasp! - staying home. I settled for an older car, a less glamorous job, and three dollar Target clearance tees.
Ok, so I didn't really settle. I married a man I profoundly respect and love. I'm blessed with a child whose worth is infinitely beyond my deserving. Even when he's being a toot. I have comfort, security, and people in my life. I didn't settle at all, if you want to push the issue. And I'm happy.
I. Am. Happy.
That may sound trite, but lately those words have been walloping me over the head. Over and over. I am settling and I am happy. Or maybe settling in is a better way to put it. I'm finally starting to feel like I've caught up with myself! Like I'm not measuring my life in phases. Or something.
Do you know what I mean? Is this something everyone feels at one point or another? Did God blast me with Celestial Joy just for the heck of it? Is this a routine part of growing up, or am I simply slow to arrive?
Hello? Ummm, you there?
Do enlighten, dear Older and Wiser Sister. Although, I guess if you don't know either it's not the end of the world. Because I'm totally diggin' this settling thing.
Yours In a Great Stupor of Obviousness,
Hook
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