Fortunate

Yesterday was my birthday. I'm thirty-fortunate, as dear Idealist puts it. I thought about it, and I realized how right she is. I had ideas as to what I'd be doing at around this age, those nebulous thoughts of "where I'm going to be at age ____", that sort of thing. I figured I'd have a couple of kids, married, job (not teaching...mom's the teacher), living somewhere in New England or something. Nothing fancy.

I still don't have anything fancy, but that seems right to me. I have a lot more than many people: I have a husband whom I love dearly, who loves me just as much. I have dear friends and family both far and near whom I can count on. I get to work in a profession I love that allows me to use my strengths to their utmost as long as I'm savvy enough to keep recognizing it. I'm growing a healthy baby boy, and my grandmother is still alive and sharp enough at almost 96 to know that I'm calling him after her husband and my father. My sweet little dog cannot stop cuddling with us. We have a house that remains relatively cool in the summer and warm in the winter.

I don't mean to brag. I just want to attempt to express how deeply fortunate I am and that I recognize it. Maybe not as often as I should; I think in many ways we tend to complain or brood about things going wrong. I don't know if that's media or the crazy pace of the world or what, but I do try to see at some point every day what a blessed and wonderful life I have.