I haven’t become an overnight-sensation-best-selling-author who will never have to worry about money again in this life.
Nor have I discovered the Fountain of Youth (as my knees will attest) and my generously upholstered derriere is in no danger of fitting into a size zero. (Is size zero really a thing?)
The lottery gods certainly haven’t smiled upon me, and the Lords of Karma know where I live and still pay occasional house calls.
Life hasn’t magically become all yellow brick roads, rainbows and lollipops. It’s more like a tapestry of bright and dark with occasional flashes of circus-colored lunacy.
In other words, it’s life, on life’s terms. And it ain’t about to change just to suit my convenience.
So it’s a good thing I finally pulled my head out of the comfortably upholstered derriere mentioned above and stopped obsessing about stuff I didn’t have or things that didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped.
Instead, I took a long look at the good things that were right under my nose. (Einstein moment: thinking about good things is much more happy-making than dwelling on bad ones.)
There were lots of them–some big, some small. Enough to contribute a whole lot of bright to life’s tapestry.
And I realized that I’m one lucky little old white-haired chica who has a whole bunch of reasons to be grateful.
But there’s always bright in the tapestry–if I choose to see it.