I walked out of my house this morning to go to work, took a deep breath, and thought to myself, “I have a pretty good life. I am grateful for this.” After all, the heat of the summer seemed to be dissipating, and although the sky was overcast, all the flowers in the garden are out, and I am on my way to a job I really love. I have a roof over my head and all the bills that need to be paid have been paid. I’m reasonably healthy for someone my age, and I have a wonderful family who I love and who loves me. In the grand scheme of things, I have a really comfortable life.
I realize that it has not always been like this for me, nor will it stay like this for very long. I realize that I am, in this moment, deeply privileged to have even this moment of relative peace and (dare I say it) joy.
I know this because it wasn’t so long ago that I sat in the midst of the rubble of my life, having just taken a wrecking ball to everything I knew and had built, from my marriage to my career to my core belief systems. I was covered in the dust of what I’d shattered, and everyone around me was questioning the wisdom of what I’d done. Hell, *I* was questioning it. I was about to make myself a divorced single mom. I had no job and didn’t want anything to do with the career path I’d been on, despite the promise of its six-figure salary. I wasn’t sure if I still believed in my god or myself.
