on Rhythms

"His demeanor shifted when he talked about his books, [and] I got the sense that he enjoyed this version of himself, the sort of quirky intellectual who might toll antiquarian book fairs looking for treasures for his bookshelf, rather than the version [his wife] seemed interested in promoting: the rich man with toys."

(Danielle Ganek, The Summer We Read Gatsby)

--

I am a believer in rhythms.

I don't know if they are spurned by the same tides as the ocean, or the seasons of the year, but I believe they exist within us and among us. And, oh, how I love them. 

These past few days, I have spent quite a bit of time thinking about the kind of life I want to lead. The kind of woman I want to be. Who I am, and where I am are far different from where I expected to be when I was "planning my future" back in college: I've not written a great novel, nor am I back overseas. I marvel at the man I've married, how different he is from me, and how spectacularly happy we are. It is this happiness in the gentle rhythms of life that give me pause, for I sometimes wonder if it is right to be so content in such a simple existence. Am I pushing myself enough? Stretching myself sufficiently? 

I'm am challenged not to allow my soul be so affected by what others think. If this is happiness for us, should it really matter that someone one else may call these quotidian patterns "boring?"

The truth is, I'm a little in love with life's rhythms. Observing change and growth. Knowing that even though the burden of this heavy winter feels so great, that spring truly will come. And if we really are content to spend the weekend puttering indoors, ordering chinese take-out when I can't muster the creativity to cook, and watching the Sochi Olympics from our warm living room. Well, there is nothing wrong with that.