Beyond Want A Life Truly Lived

Sometimes, I think about things I used to want. Not *need*, mind you, but want. Shiny, new things. There was a time – Lord, it feels like another lifetime – when a new dress, a piece of furniture, a particularly lovely set of china seemed to hold the key to a certain… completeness. Not happiness, not exactly, but a sense of being *right*. As if acquiring something lovely would somehow settle something unsettled within.

I remember Fredericksburg. Eli’s first day of school. Such a whirlwind, getting him settled, the excitement in his voice. But even amidst the joy, there was this little tug, this feeling that I should be doing something else, *buying* something else. Not for Eli, bless his heart, but for myself. It's a silly thing to admit, I suppose, especially when you’ve had the blessing of a full and grateful life.

It’s funny how children have a way of pulling you back to what truly matters. Seeing Eli’s eagerness to learn, his bright, hopeful eyes, it just… shifted something in me. Those fleeting desires felt hollow, almost embarrassing. All that striving for things that, in the grand scheme of things, simply don't matter.

Kevin, dear Kevin, he’s been working himself ragged. And Adrienne, she’s juggling so much. They chase after things, I see it. Not always material things, mind you. Sometimes it's a perfect career, a meticulously planned future. A striving for *more*. I remember cooking for them that first week after Lily arrived. Endless meals, organizing the freezer, taking those overnight shifts so they could rest. And watching them, I realized how much energy it took to keep chasing.

Jerry, bless his heart. He’s always been a quiet observer, a man of few words. But he sees things. He held Lily on the couch for an afternoon, just rocking her gently. A simple, quiet act of love. And he looked… at peace. I told him then, on our drive home through Georgia, with the sunlight filtering through the trees, that I thought retirement would be good. He just smiled and said, "I’ve been waiting for you to notice.”

That drive home. The colors of the trees, the smell of the damp earth... those are the memories that linger. The beautiful things, the truly important things, aren’t bought and paid for. They’re lived. They’re felt. They’re woven into the fabric of everyday life.

It's not about rejecting beauty, you understand. There’s joy to be found in lovely things. But it's about understanding where your sense of worth comes from. It can't come from a new coat or a fancier car. It comes from kindness, from connection, from the quiet satisfaction of a life well-lived.

I’ve been thinking lately about letting go. Not just of things, but of expectations. Of the need to *be* a certain way, to *have* a certain life. Just being. That’s enough. That’s truly enough.