I should have been in Ireland today, celebrating twenty-five years of my cousin’s marriage.  But life didn’t work out that way and we had to cancel flights and rearrange our schedule … and then rearrange it again … and again.  And now, I’m spending today alone, sitting on my back deck, reading yoga texts and contemplating taking a shower soon (because I dragged myself to yoga this morning – worth it, always!- and I’m gross and stinky and really need to clean up).

When I left Zavino all those years ago – more than five, whew! – I had no idea what I was going to do.  I knew I wanted out of that job and that company, I knew I wanted out of the commute and the stress of restaurants, but I had no idea what else I was qualified to do.  That debate quickly took a back seat to spending time with my mother as she battled cancer and eventually succumbed followed by  two years of surviving the ever-changing landscape of a global pandemic that metamorphosed into a country massively divided.

But I’m young and I can’t ‘do nothing’ forever.  In fact, my body and my brain massively object to doing nothing indefinitely.  So earlier this year I endeavored to finish my yoga teacher training.  And I’m hoping to be able to teach plus incorporate my life practicing yoga into my new endeavor with Danielle.  My brain feels happy – challenged and overwhelmed and blissfully content.  It’s funny what direction and purpose can do for a person.

I had this strange moment yesterday while John and I enjoyed a coffee date on our back patio.  I thought about how we’re all racing to accomplish something – become someone – make our mark … but to what end?  I thought about all the joys of my life, the hard work J+I have put in to crafting this little slice of happiness together, and I thought to myself – I’m ready to just sit back and enjoy it for a bit.  Enjoy our homes and our decks and our patios and our cars.  Enjoy where we live – Longwood and Marsh Creek and West Chester and State College and Beaver Stadium – and all the trappings that come with this life built in rural pockets of Pennsylvania.  I want to just … be.  And not feel like I’m racing or completing or rushing or reaching.  Because here – where I am – is more than enough.

My younger brother lives in the French Alps.  He travels nearly constantly – he summits mountains and ice-climbs and skiis and surfs and white-water rafts and reads loads of books and writes screen-plays and has a million friends who love him.  He visits the sets of Scorsese films and hosts epic Halloween parties.  He lives life extremely well.  And I have moments (more than I’d like to admit but – I believe – understandably so) when I wonder how he lives such a rockstar life, and I sip chai teas in Chester County and shlep into Philadelphia routinely for medicine infusions.  How is my life so … boring … compared to his?

It always takes me a beat to remember that my life is actually exactly what I want.  Just as his life is exactly what he wants.  I don’t want to sleep on a mattress in a van – no matter how cool & adventurous it sounds! – because I like sleeping in my nice bed (or any bed for that matter) and being able to shuffle to the bathroom without getting dressed and putting shoes on.  It’s really hard to remember that when the romanticism of his existence tugs so constantly on my soul.  I have to begrudgingly remind myself that I am a creature of habit, that I enjoy seeing my baristas at my Starbucks and my yoga friends and teachers and my dad on a regular basis.  I like having roots and routine.  Those things feed me.

But I was raised by parents who travelled everywhere, and to whom travel and adventure defined success.  I know – am more sure than anything – that my Dad loves me, but is he as proud of me and my life as he is of my brother?  Maybe.  I don’t know.  My American father married my British mother.  My American brother married his French wife.  I married an American man whose young life kept him in a small town in north central Pennsylvania.  He didn’t have a passport until after we met (and not because of me – because his job sent him to Costa Rica for long stretches).  I think about these things more than I want to because I think being human means being afflicted with some kind of insecurity.  Mine is not living up to potential.  Not taking advantage of opportunities.  Not having purpose.

Heavy.  I know.

Anyway! The breeze changed directions and I got a whiff of my stinky self so I am off to shower and do wildly exciting things like balance our check book and rearrange our cleaning supplies and the laundry room.  I bet my brother is doing something epic – like watching a famous race or attending a crazy celebration.  That’s okay.  It’s better than okay.  That’s life.  And I am grateful for every day.

Xoxo, g