This morning I woke up early enough, took the trash out, and tweaked my Thursday ritual. Instead of reading at 1369, I went for a run. I run best when I have badly lyric'ed hip hop blasting in my ears, turns out. I'm making small changes since bigger changes will have to wait, and I'm enjoying it. Today marks the first day of a month of primarily working from home. I cleaned off my desk last night in preparation, something that's been on my meaning-to-do list for some time.
This morning Meg Fee has come up with the perfect words for what I'm thinking these days:
but it's not enough. those things i love are simply not enough anymore.And just like that, everything is glinting and glimmering, people are running, holding newspapers over their heads like I thought they did only in movies. This is the Spring less heralded.
no one tells you that one of the joys of getting older is the confidence in that phrase: not. good. enough.
you know yourself better, priorities come into focus, and lies are easier to unearth.
you learn, with grace, to let some things go: friendships that were more a product of youth and need than anything else. men who diminish your worth and underestimate your intelligence.
you care less about satisfying everyone--being thought of as kind. you invest far less time in pretense because time is in fact a commodity and so you give it to those you love--your friends and your family and yourself. and you stop apologizing for that. you make decisions. and you move on. and you let go when need be.
and where need be. corners and cafes and shared apartments.
growing up, it turns out, has its perks.