I have been examining this "issue" in my life more closely lately, as fate has given me ample opportunity to do some self examining in recent days. Living without a husband to examine yourself for you creates such windows of time for introspection. Oddly enough, lately I have been more content in my life, even going without certain things, like cable TV and kisses, than I have been at any memorable time in my life. I have been wondering why. And don't really have answers, but I do have some speculation...
The last few days/weeks/months have been a laughable cavalcade of ridiculously bad luck at my house. I am inclined to think that bad luck was one of the many things left behind when HE moved out. I am even more inclined to think that when I hear that maybe HE probably has a new girlfriend, and that HE is now a search and extraction heli-rappeller for the Air Force (do they have those?) and a Keynote Speaker at Events Of Regional Importance, and other almost unbelievable good-lucky things, so perhaps HE left all of HIS bad luck at our house. Which is why we have flesh eating bacterial diseases, fleas, and a myriad of other pestilent diseases, toilet floods, late charges on internet bills that we payed ahead, auto-payed and double payed because they sent our pay-ahead money to HIM as a refund when HE took HIS name off the bill, doubled phone bills because HIS iPhone contract is still sitting on my bill to the tune of $360, speeding tickets, disobedient teenagers, canine aural hematomas and much, much, much more going on. But then I remember that HE always had lucky-sounding things happening, or about to happen, even when HE was getting slammed with bad luck, like losing the Woman of HIS dreams and her four awesome kids and three awesome dogs, even with flesh eating bacteria and aural hematomas. So I feel like it's safe to say that HE probably took HIS luck with him, good or bad, and all of this is just a chance for me to learn contentedness in the middle of the storm.
And the craziest thing about it all: I am content. Maybe because even with the raging storm of crazy-bad luck, there is peace at home. In spite of the vicious teenagers and tottering-on-the-brink finances, there is peace. The flesh-eating bacteria healed. The fleas went away. The money comes and goes just like always, and a year from now I won't remember the stupid $500 that went to fixing all of the dumb-luck issues that popped up. We have food on the shelf of a house that is warm and we have each other. And if that is no good, we have other people too. Even in my loneliness I am content. Because I have tasted enough of uncomfortable and unhealthy relationship to know that peaceful loneliness is better sometimes.
November is the month of gratitude. Really, it should be one of twelve months of gratitude, but people like to talk about it more in November, so here I am, being all trendy.
I am grateful. For the money to pay the silly bills. For the medicine to cure the plagues. For the insurance to pay for the medicine so the money can pay the silly redundant bills. For the people that we love. The ones who take care of us. For the chilly fall weather and sweaters. For awesome healthy kids, even when they're incorrigible. For Halle NOT being the student randomly stabbed in her dorm (prayers to that family). For no pregnancies, no deaths, no shut off notices, no starving, no major losses, except to the Gosh Darn Patriots (I am NOT content about football right now). For dogs, even with their pestilences. For work, even when it sucks. I am grateful. And because I am grateful, I am content. Because gratitude leads to contentment. And ingratitude leads to discontent. And I am tired of both of those things.
Happy November. And happy gratitude. And happy contentment.
