In the summer weeks leading up to our wedding, Andy and I spent time with our parents. I remember wanting to be around them before things changed irrevocably. No longer would we be hanging out at their houses because we would have a place of our own.
I remember wanting to not-stress. I was finishing summer classes, we were gearing up for a wedding with hundreds of people, and planning for our honeymoon in Hawaii. We also were going out with friends, finishing premarital counseling, and working. It took a lot of work to not-stress. I wasn’t very successful.
It was around this time that Dad slipped in some advice that made me roll my eyes. He suggested to strive for a dull and mundane life. He said it so much that it became a mantra of sorts, as well as a joke. Andy and I still remind each other of it — remember, the goal is a dull and mundane life.
Maybe someday we will arrive at the goal. Instead it feels like we are jetting from one moment to the next. Some are awesome, like varsity wrestling and California beaches. Some are exhausting like break-ups and arrests. I’m busy being extravagantly available and rolling with the unexpected. The calendar is pudgy and the energy wanes, but I remain forever hopeful that we will one day live a dull and mundane life.
Perhaps this is why I chase after ordinary moments. Rather than rush, I choose to pause and feel the wind brush through my eyelashes. In the midst of the harried schedule, I want to feel the deep breath fill my lungs and the sunshine heat my toes. The stream of demands pause when I turn off my phone and walk barefooted from flower pot to flower pot with an old watering can.
I want to live an unhurried life, but I wonder is this a mythical quest?
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