I have a good life. Not a charmed life. Or a won-the-Nobel-Peace-prize kind of life.
Just a simple life. One that’s had its ups and downs. A one day seems to blend into the next day kind of life.
I’ve won and I’ve failed. Both persisted and given up. Got married and divorced. Took me three times to figure out I’m not the marrying type.
I’ve loved and I’ve lost. Felt exquisite joy and bone crushing grief.
I am the type that enjoys solitude, peace and relaxation. Rather than parties, drama and excitement.
And I now know that I live my best life with pet babies rather than with people.
I live in a one-bedroom apartment with a patio garden. And that is enough.
I raised two beautiful daughters and smile down on three lovely grandchildren. Well, the oldest is 16 and growing like the proverbial weed. And he now looks down on me.
He comes over to lift heavy pots for his Grammy and that boy’s smile lights up the universe.
If only everyone had a roof over their head and food to eat. That children didn’t go to school hungry or come home to houses reeking of violence.
At least I can say that my life is the life I have chosen. In some ways I guess it chose me.
But it is my life. Made up of my choices. Directed by my mistakes that I’ve tried hard to correct as best I can. It is a straightforward and uncomplicated sort of life.
So live your best life. Whether it be filled with adulation and notoriety, or calm with a steadfast love beside you.
And buy yourself flowers.
Unless, like me, you have a cat that would pull off every petal with sheer delight and glee.
Which, to me, is another kind of “enough”. Because as long as I’d gotten a little enjoyment out of them, it would give me a good laugh to watch her doing it.