It’s that weird moment when you realize you’re happy.
It’s not a big, earth-shattering moment, no.
Maybe you’re not even doing anything particularly interesting, just driving through the main street of your town to pick up groceries.
The feeling is subtle, yet palpable, the way magnolia perfumes the air in early summer—infusing mundane moments with something magical.
Like legos snapping together…
You realize life is a series of becomings—arriving here, leaving there.
Change fades in and out—dynamic is the only word that buzzes through the air.
So you let your messy hair down, turn the music way up, let your dog squeal a little in the car, and smile at no one in particular.
And you know what?
It feels good. Really damn good.
You realize that as you’ve tried to claw and uncurl life’s mysteries to desperately make sense of it all, there is no particular “destination” to get to, growth doesn’t look how you expected it to, and being an adult is not at all like how like you imagined it when you were 12.
There is no singular moment where everything comes together and we have it all figured out.
The exploration is endless. Infinite, like the winding roads through these mountainsides I call home.
And the vulnerability is so real. Yes, gut-wrenching at times.
As for me, I haven’t arrived anywhere per se.
I’m not really where I expected to be in life. It’s easy to compare myself to other 30-somethings and feel lacking based on external analysis of where society says I “should” be.
I’m not married yet and don’t have kids. But I have a wonderful partner, a pup, and two cats.
I love my work—it’s challenging, messy, complicated, and beautiful. I love sitting with others as a therapist in moments of darkness, joy, pain, and despair.
But more than anything, I am embracing life as it comes, letting each moment whisper through my fingertips like the wind.
I am watching sunsets with unabated enthusiasm, so in love with how the mountains around me look different every day. Their moods stretched against the canvas of my moods; perception shifts can become perspective shifts that rip holes in how I used to see things.
I am caring less about being someone who has their sh*t together.
And being myself? Well, that doesn’t happen all at once either. More of who I am comes into view, familiar pieces return home, as old dusty layers peel off to spell songs of long-awaited liberation. It is another infinite process, a long, drawn-out hello, a sweet series of arrivals.
I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I am feeling a deep sense of acceptance about it all —
My so-called failures and wounds, the bruises I’ve gotten along the way, all the paths I’ve taken just to try to get somewhere, and the million things I thought I had to prove.
And damn, I really like how it feels to stop chasing the “shoulds” like it’s my job.
So on this quiet, humid June evening, during an unsuspecting drive through town, I sit back and enjoy the ride.
It is simple, this happiness. Like most feelings, it will ebb and flow. It’s not what I imagined, but I love that. And it does not really lend itself to analysis, thank goodness.
It feels light and fragrant.
I am excited for the adventures to keep unfurling.
Yes. I am excited to see what comes next.