I’m headed back to work this week (I’m a teacher) and I know that the inevitable question “What did you do this summer?” is going to be asked.
When I was a student it always seemed like it was almost a contest to see who had the most exciting holiday. You rehearsed your lines the week before Labour day, perhaps had a souvenir or two to bring, got your first-day-of-school outfit ready…
Would you measure up? Were you exciting enough?
I found myself getting ready in the same way the other day.
On the surface it seems like I didn’t do that much.
I cleaned-up a lot after the builders.
Made large decisions about the type of house we’ll be living in for a very long time, baked, continued on my rocky, writing journey… But what about the huge trip? What about the course completed? How’s that novel going? Did you get married? Pregnant?
I didn’t do any of those things and…
I learned this summer that my family and my life don’t need a story. They are great. They are imperfect. They are frustrating. They are lovable and they come first.
On my summer vacation I learned to just live. To enjoy little moments and feel blessed. To not need a big tada (unless it involves a really good dessert or a terrific sale on Kate Spade shoes). To love watching my little girl. To find joy in her learning how to do puzzles and saying a new word each day. To feel amazed that I met my amazing husband and he somehow chose to spend his life with me. I even got to spend a couple of weeks with my mom. My sister and I will have time together-eventually.
Maybe that is my big tada. Is this what being a grown-up means? Hmmm…Didn’t think that would happen.