I’ve always been an optimist—I can’t help it. There were times I wanted to wear flannel shirts and stand slumped like Claire Danes in My So-Called Life. That persona seemed so mysterious and alluring. I wanted to be the brooding-writer and the complicated girl who just needed someone to care, but…
I’ve had rough times just like anyone else. I’ve been sad, I’ve been scared and I’ve been lost. But it’s not who I am. I like life! I like almost everything about it. I’m a “hoper” and “doer” and a “it’s probably going to alrighter”. When it comes down to it, I’m just a glass half-full kind of girl.
Yes, sometimes life is awful. For example, sometimes you quit your job because you think you are moving to Japan and the team that offered your husband a job goes bankrupt. Or sometimes you move across the country to start a new adventure and your relationships suffer for it and you move home. And sometimes you finally think you have it all figured out and you’re rocking out in school and a spot on your eye starts bleeding and you find out you have cancer. Ok maybe those are bit specific, but you get my drift. Life sucks sometimes.
Maybe we didn’t go to Japan because we needed adversity to glue our marriage together. Maybe we came back home from California because I needed to be here when my Dad had his heart attack and my brother’s world almost fell apart. Maybe I got pregnant at what seemed to be an inopportune time because I might not’ve been able to later and this little bundle of genetics was the perfect girl for me. Maybe seeing my life flash before my eyes at thirty was exactly what I needed to show me how to really love the people around me.
Maybe the glass is half-full.
Right now, as a family, we’re floating. My husband retired from basketball and will be the first person in his biological family to graduate from college. He’s been to more countries than I can count, but this paper sends him, truly, into uncharted territory. He’s going to coach and we don’t know where and I can’t start working again until we set down some roots, no matter how shallow. It’s scary and exciting and so very stressful.
This morning I put on my running shoes and headed out on the escarpment we currently call home: running and hoping for the best. And you know what? Maybe in six months I’ll look back on today and realize that during this time my glass wasn’t half-full, after all.
Maybe I’ll realize that, in fact, my cup runneth over.
Here’s to hoping.