Today I barely made it home from work. I can't believe how tired I am. I had a series of meetings today that left me emotionally and psychologically exhausted.
And I haven't exercised in weeks. Who am I kidding? Months.
My good friend Celeste just picked up and moved to Florida. We talked a few days ago and she remarked how she hadn't been homesick even one day. "And then," she said, "I realized why. It's because I AM home."
I envy her spunk. I envy her ability to choose, closer to 60 than am I, to start a new chapter. Will I ever get that energy again? That drive to start something unfamiliar? The motivation and the energy to begin again?
Naturally, I lament all this to my husband. Why am I not career-driven any more? I don't want to go back to school. I can barely make it to my knitting group each week. I have no desire to start new projects.
Is he right? Is it because, for the first time in years- perhaps the first time in my life- I'm content?
And if it's contentment.... can acceptance be far behind?
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