Thank you to Sara Groves for so winsomely giving words to an at once intricate and simple experience of living that I've found myself walking in the past, well, while of my life.
Different kinds of happy.
This new to me song played in the background as Neal and I cooked dinner together in the kitchen, blackened tilapia as this summer Sunday night would have it.
As the words spun together, mixing with the scents of spices wafting up from the oil-spitting skillet, Neal turned and pulled me into his arms for the kind of smooch where your lips smile while you kiss.
We spent the late afternoon underneath a huge tree in Lincoln Park.
Conversation more about some of my sadness, frustration, and feelings of lack than anything else.
Last night over dinner I cried into most of my white napkin while the waiter checked on us with mild repose.
Classy, I know.
I am happy.
It's a different kind of happy than other kinds I've known.
It's one where I'm more dependent than I want to be, one where I'm growing in a way I didn't see coming.
Sometimes I fiercely dislike it. At other times, I like it in an I'm-becoming-someone-I-didn't-know-I-would kind of way.
Since I'm writing, and you're reading, I have a request to make.
Listen to Sara Groves' "Different Kinds of Happy" song, or at least read the lyrics.
And secondly, promise yourself that you will lay flat on your back under a huge tree this summer and look up.
I don't care if you're 25, 55, or 85.
I wanna hear about it.