I am trying to figure out why it is that the better we do, the more pressure we put on ourselves to outdo it the next time around. What does anything mean when we can’t be content that we are doing enough? That we are enough?
(And in the pit of my guts, I really do think we are but sometimes our brains forget what our hearts know.)
I’m sitting in my kitchen finishing some writing projects, the house smells like butternut squash and marinara sauce. I’ve been making my own from scratch and it’s so good, I don’t know what to say except I can’t believe it took me nearly 30 years to figure this out. Better late than never.
Anyway, this song came on and made my breath catch in my chest. Sometimes songs happen that make you cry into your wine at your kitchen table at 9:30pm on a Tuesday. Maybe it’ll mean something to you, too.