I went out for a run tonight, trying desperately to keep up with the challenge I set for myself. I’ve been doing pretty well with the yoga and the healthy eating, but I’ve really struggled to fit the running in there.
Until I realized that I can’t have a demanding full time job, be a mom, try to pave my way as a freelance writer, maintain a blog, stay fit, be a Beachbody coach and have a life at the same time.
Indeed my friends, something’s gotta give, so I’m not going to force myself to run 10 miles a week if that means everything else is going to suffer.
That being said, I set out to run three miles today and felt the kind of contentment I feel on Saturday mornings when I wake up to a quiet house, make myself a cup of coffee and an Eggo waffle, open up my computer and start writing.
I always wanted to be a writer. In high school I actually wrote a couple of books. One was a book of short stories I gave my favorite English teacher as a graduation present (for my graduation), and the other was a rip-off of some baby-sitting books I used to read in elementary school.
I feel really happy sitting in front of my computer, sharing my thoughts with you guys. And it makes me wonder if I didn’t miss my calling somehow by thinking I needed to be an engineer or a businesswoman or a sales manager all these years.
Last year I read The Alchemist by Paolo Coelho for the first time. This week I read an article he did with Oprah Winfrey for O Magazine, and he reminded me of something I truly believe. If you really want something the whole universe will conspire to help you achieve it.
And we all have a “personal legend.” Something we were meant to achieve in our lifetime.
For Paulo Coelho, he really wanted to be a writer. And even though culturally it wasn’t well accepted in his culture to be a man and an artist, he had the balls to follow his own path and eventually became a writer.
So here I am, writing. I’m writing because I love to write, but I’m also writing because (and maybe this is presumptuous of me), but I feel like I’ve found some sort of key. Some sort of secret to happiness that so many people around me seem to be missing. I’ve figured out that something about this journey I was on – the anxiety, the moving from place to place, the yoga, the near-death childbirth experience – led me to think differently than most, and I want to share with others what I’ve picked up from my experience. I want people around me to be a little happier, too.
I didn’t really get it until recently, but happiness in life is really no more than contentment with the little things you do on a daily basis. No pressure, no goals, no ulterior motives – just contentment. Like watching a bunch of boats sail into a sunset and realizing there is nothing else to life but enjoying the beauty of watching a bunch of boats sail into the sunset. You just have to clear out the wounds that prevent you from getting there.
Maybe I’ll tell you about mine some other time (the wounds, that is). But for now, I’ll enjoy another simple pleasure. My post-run aches and pains, my husband’s excellent gallo pinto, and a perfectly chilled glass of red wine, while I listen to my son reading to his dad in the background.