When I was younger than even I am now, I used to rail against contentment, screaming that it was the end of learning, the end of change.
When I was younger I railed even more than even I do now, each scream a stake in the ground to hold up my integrity.
This morning I drove to work with this odd bubble skipping and popping in my chest, and as I sighed and grinned at the lakeshore traffic, I idly wondered where this afterglow-like feeling was coming from, what with this morning not having involved any romping 'sides much hugging in the stairwell.
It took a few turns and lights and happy sort of sighs to realize, I was feeling content. Happy. Simply happy. The weekend had been rough, throat infection and utter lack of sleep since sometime Wednesday, too much time to think and doubt while my body was busy breaking.
Then Sunday evening broke and the abcess in my throat had suddenly stopped leaking entirely, ninety nine of my hundred questions had quiet, soft answers and Dave had that intense look on his face and when he bent to kiss me and tell me beautiful that sends shivers into places that are normally tense with the burn of each car on every street, with the anger in every voice in each city.
I thought about magic too, this morning, about Dave's birthday and the impossibilites that have stubbornly turned to realities in my life since I swallowed the terror and hopped an airplane for Toronto.
When I was younger than even I am now I feared contentment and the stagnation of every suburban square of lawn.
Today somehow, I am content, the lawn is neither flat nor suburban, and this year I have continued to break that all important record -- and managed to learn more than in any previous year.
In that case, maybe I can permit myself to stay happy. :)