It’s terrifying just being… okay… with life.
At least for me it is. Isn’t that weird?
I have a lingering fundamental belief that if I allow myself to become okay with my life, here and now, I’ll be stuck with exactly what I have right now. Everything will stop and nothing new and cool will come into my existence.
Something in me strives and strives for more, more, more. It constantly grasps for the newer, more improved version of what is.
On one hand, this feels healthy. Ever-growing. Ever-evolving. Ever-improving.
But on the other hand, I have to ask myself — what am I so afraid of?
My current life feels like that girl at the party who seems cool enough to talk to, but who I’m ignoring just enough to keep me company while inconspicuously peering around for someone more interesting.
What if everyone else just… took off? Just left the two of us alone? In a big, empty house?
I’d be forced to make conversation with her. To look her in the eyes and see her soul.
What might that reveal to me?
Being more and more okay with our life can be a lifelong practice.
Maybe she would be really f*cking cool.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as awkward as I’m making it out to be.
Maybe I’d appreciate her wit. Her charm.
Maybe she’d even laugh at some of my jokes. Real laugh. Like, belly laugh.
Maybe this life and I could spend the rest of our lives together. Enjoying each other’s company. Bickering every now and then. But generally, having a blast.
Maybe we’d grow and change naturally together. One day, we’d wake up, and be older, wiser versions of our young selves. Appreciating the small things like massaging each other’s feet and keeping each other warm.
Sitting here and writing this, I look around and see that my life is pretty great. Maybe I’ll try to stop peeking over my shoulder looking for another one to hang out with.
So, whattdya say, life? Let’s go up to the rooftop together and check out the skyline.
Let’s toast to the rest of the evening. Just you and me.
Maybe we should hang out more often.