For some reason I've been thinking a lot about an old, old discussion some Fairbanks friends and I were having. I am not at all sure how the subject had come up, but we were talking about "the best". Everyone agreed that one friend had the best, most beautiful house. Another friend's husband had the best body and everyone wanted their husband to look like that.
As shallow and self-absorbed as it was, I waited for someone to say they wanted something of mine - but it didn't come. No one said they wanted my house, my car, or my husband. No one wanted my family, my life, my anything. I was hurt, deeply hurt, not because my life wasn't great, but because it meant I was not special.
The funny thing is, I look back at that conversation and a part of me still feels a little sad. I've grown up a lot since then and don't rely on others so much to make me happy but there will always be that little part of me that wishes someone would say, "Wow, Bobbi. You're so lucky."
The thing is, I already know I'm lucky.
I have a husband who washes the dishes almost every night, who pitches in with the housework, and who makes enough to support us so that I can stay home and take care of the boys, if need be. I'm not afraid to speak to him about anything and everything. He supports me in my crazy endeavors.
I have two boys who are amazing human beings. They are creative and kind, intelligent and loving. They are gracious to their classmates and teachers. People remember them.
I live in a brand-new townhouse. I teach people English. I brought Imagination Library to Beloit. I take care of myself. I get to travel. I have sewing skills. I can (successfully!) write grants. I have an extended family that loves me. I have friends who like me for who I am.
There are more things that make me lucky, too. So even though it wasn't spoken those many years ago, I am incredibly lucky.
What makes you lucky?
Blessed be.
As shallow and self-absorbed as it was, I waited for someone to say they wanted something of mine - but it didn't come. No one said they wanted my house, my car, or my husband. No one wanted my family, my life, my anything. I was hurt, deeply hurt, not because my life wasn't great, but because it meant I was not special.
The funny thing is, I look back at that conversation and a part of me still feels a little sad. I've grown up a lot since then and don't rely on others so much to make me happy but there will always be that little part of me that wishes someone would say, "Wow, Bobbi. You're so lucky."
The thing is, I already know I'm lucky.
I have a husband who washes the dishes almost every night, who pitches in with the housework, and who makes enough to support us so that I can stay home and take care of the boys, if need be. I'm not afraid to speak to him about anything and everything. He supports me in my crazy endeavors.
I have two boys who are amazing human beings. They are creative and kind, intelligent and loving. They are gracious to their classmates and teachers. People remember them.
I live in a brand-new townhouse. I teach people English. I brought Imagination Library to Beloit. I take care of myself. I get to travel. I have sewing skills. I can (successfully!) write grants. I have an extended family that loves me. I have friends who like me for who I am.
There are more things that make me lucky, too. So even though it wasn't spoken those many years ago, I am incredibly lucky.
What makes you lucky?
Blessed be.
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