I'm having a hard time coming to terms with the simple (yeah, right) fact that life comes in seasons. There isn't a jumping off point into the abyss that I believed happiness occupied. No single moment where happiness began for me. Millions of those instead, little glimpses and instances of perfection. I pray now those instances happen closer and closer together.
That's foolish. I realize that.
There has to be rain.
And the milestones we set are not milestones at all when you arrive at them. Covered in the dirt of hard work and determination, I have always found myself at a precipice of ownership when I reach goals I, at one time, believed to be milestones. I didn't jump for joy like a child. I walked steady, like a woman who had earned her way into that promotion, that new car, that vacation, that home- that life.
I struggle that things are not all good or all bad. Most things are both. And you don't just get sunshine, you get that rain. That sometimes unseemingly stoppable rain.
When it's peaceful I miss the mind fuck.
And yet I wish for peace of mind on almost every shooting star.