When I was younger, I used up empty moments imagining what and where I wanted to be by the time I turned thirty. I thought I might be a writer for a magazine like National Geographic, single and traveling the world with deadlines on my mind, wearing clothes with lots of pockets. Or maybe an artist in a city like New York or Seattle or Melbourne living in a loft with giant canvases supplanted in every corner. A small kitchenette and comfy bed the only other belongings. Single. Busy.
Then I grew up just a bit and realized I wasn't going to get to those destinations any time soon, if at all. Chances, opportunities, and dreams started to fall by the wayside like discarded rubber on a highway. Left behind by dirty Mack trucks too busy going to see what they were leaving. I started to make enormous efforts killing those dreams off one by one, reducing my scope, setting my sights much lower so that I could live with the reality I awoke with daily at that time. I never found myself lying in bed imagining husbands and children and presents to wrap under a crooked tree. I never imagined empty moments that were just...left alone to simply be.
It is such a Blessing.