One day, long ago, I dreamed of the life I’m living now. Walking around the block in my white open-toed Birkenstocks, my smartwatch tracking every step on a warm winter day in the South, I realized the philosopher’s words coming through my speaker were right. I did dream of this—a life filled with love and acceptance as steady as the rising sun.
We’re stuck in traffic on Highway 165, brake lights are breaking my spirit. My thoughts spiral as I spot a massive Ford truck, its low MPG capacity gnawing at me like an annoying kid kicking the back of my chair. I want to turn around and scold it, but then Evelyn whines from the backseat, “When are we going to be home?”
“An hour and a half,” I tell her, knowing it won’t be the last time she asks. I feel my patience fraying. I’m tired of caring about things that weigh me down—things I’ve been told should matter but don’t want to carry anymore.
I know I’ve been down this road before—literally and metaphorically—but I remind myself: life keeps moving forward. Climate change is real, but my irritation with that truck won’t change a thing. Maybe it’s time to dial back my judgment, especially when part of me dreams of owning a truck like that someday too.
Everything feels heavy lately. It reminds me of being off in the blackberry bushes near the Enumclaw Golf Course, hunting for my brother’s lost drone. The hillside was steep, the thorns thick as double-decker buses—finding that drone was like looking for a needle in a haystack. It was gone.
But I’m learning not all is lost.
Even in tangled, resentful moments, there’s a spark that guides me back. Maybe I don’t need to fix or solve anything right now. Maybe I just need to breathe, to take a break, and let life unfold without force.
I want to tread lightly, step back from the intensity, and rest. I imagine collapsing onto your couch, both of us sipping tea as we trace the imperfections on the ceiling with our eyes. I long to slip into the creative space that writing offers, where my mind’s shackles unlatch, and joy flows freely.
And that’s the plan—to unstrap the rigid knight’s armor and set it aside. I picture myself savoring tea, sinking deeper into the cushion’s aged embrace, free from the tug of perfection. There’s no need for a solution right now. Life, with all its imperfections, is beautiful enough. And so am I—learning, growing, finding peace in the in-between.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 