Content.

If you had told me a year ago that I would be where I am right now I’d look at you, wide-eyed, in a daze of disbelief and then hug you really hard once it had all nestled in. I’d thank you for sharing the good news then nearly collapse, pleasantly surging with relief. My boss reminds me to “enjoy every moment of every day,” a very simple piece of advice that often takes a tragedy or streak of sadness to jar us into implementing. My little jolt came from the latter.

For me, days would go by in a very fast blur. Like sitting on an express train, passing by stops and towns that could possibly mean something to me, I was hurrying through chunks of time without considering where I’d like to head, who I’d like to become. But from what I gather, time and getting older is much about unraveling who you are.

My life is not perfect, that’s not what I am getting at. My room is a mess, I procrastinate, remain a little out of touch with my passions, don’t travel as much as I’d like, treat working out as a sometimes thing, and tidiness is lost on me. Those are teeny tiny worries that I possess now instead of a dreaded sense of aimlessness. I am in a good place and am grateful for so many things. Following this past birthday, which turned out to be a rather grown-up affair, I began focusing on how things have changed since my early twenties. How the people I surround myself with mean more to me. How I have little patience for superficial ties or, on the other end of the spectrum, toxicity. How wonderful simplicity is.

This hot morning I came home, dry and tired, to a quarter of a ripe watermelon sitting on the table. Glistening. A knife resting beside it. I wanted to pick up the entire piece and bite right into the center, let the fruit dissolve and the sugar perk me up. I decided against hacking away at the fruit with my teeth. I daintily cut up little chunks, threw some stuff together in a bowl and called it a salad. A spontaneous, refreshing little salad inspired by restraint and my own contentment.