So I sat in bed tonight crocheting a scarf while my fiance (such a fun word) played basketball on the ps3. Yes we are 31 & 33 years old & I thought to myself “we are so exciting”…but then really I thought about how much I loved that moment.
I love being average. We aren’t rich but we have everything we need. We aren’t perfectly built but we maintain decent health. We aren’t old but clearly we aren’t all that young either. We are right in the middle & I love it.
Before you figure out which way your supposed to be going, you always imagine the way “happy” looks. And for a while you reach & reach & try to twist & tug your life. Then one day you’re just there. Is it perfect? Prolly not. But is anything really ever perfect? Or is perfect really about perception & whether or not you’d rather be somewhere else?
I got my perfect even if it’s while I’m crocheting like an old lady while he plays video games like a kid. We are a very strange little perfect, but perfect nonetheless.