I wrote the following post in the spring of 2010, five and a half years ago on a blog that I’m pretty sure only my sister-in-law and my friend Brian’s mom read with any regularity.  At the time my spouse and I had just moved out of the city, we had no children and we both worked full time.  Fast forward to the present and we still live in the same house mostly surrounded by forest, I work 32 hours a week from a home office and my spouse does does the bulk of the child care alongside a very part time position leading music at a church (among a long list of other projects.)  It’s autumn here right now.  The cold has crept in, the animals are starting to hunker down in preparation for winter, and I’ve written a weekly blog post pretty consistently for the last several months.  So despite the parts that don’t quite fit in the same way at present, I’m posting it again because I needed to read it and remember that life, when I am truthful with the details and accepting of the imperfections, is good.  That this life I’ve been living is enough, no matter what happens tomorrow or next season or five years from now.

April, 2010.  I have been a delinquent blog poster over the past few months. In this time, my part of the earth has transitioned from long winter days of slush and endless ice into a spring which lets light linger longer and longer into the evenings. Animals are emerging from their cold weather hiding places, and the world is green again. I have often thought of writing about what has been going on, but those thoughts never made it into a typed paragraph. We have been living out of the city for 10 months now-almost an entire year in our new habitat. There has been much work to do, things to fix and jobs to work, but little by little we are settling in nicely.

This spring has been a time of realization for me as things in nature wake up for a new season. I realized that I am happy with life as it is. There are certainly things that I get annoyed with or worry about, but when the nuts and bolts of life are boiled down, the essence that is left gets me closer to my ideal than I have ever been before. That alone is reason to claim happiness.

I have also realized that part of the reason I haven’t written anything for these past two months is that writing for me had become an escape–a way to experience the life that I wanted but didn’t have or an outlet to express frustration with life’s path. Lately I haven’t felt the need to do that.  There have been ample opportunities to craft stories and outline experiences about time spent outside, hikes I’ve taken, or how the moon reflects off the lake on a clear night. But something kept me from writing it down. My life is far from perfect–there are days when I would rather do anything other than talk to people about health, days when I’d prefer to be trekking through a mountain range instead of running errands, or days when I’m just in a cross mood for no apparent reason.  And I know that these “I’d rathers” would be there no matter where I live or what I do with my days. The modern world and its systems are poor shape, and it is easy to get overwhelmed with thinking about what needs to change. But even if I could make pottery, hike and do yoga for a living, and encourage others to embrace simplicity and promote a culture that is accessible, real and healthy for everyone, as a human I would find something to be dissatisfied with along the way.

Despite an increasingly corporate global culture and the problems that so many face as a result, I am continually amazed by my physical surroundings, by my small but indispensable community of family and friends, by the beauty of the area that I am fortunate enough to call home and for the ability to incorporate the things that I love into my daily life. For now that is enough.

Indeed.  For now that is enough.