Remembering and forgetting...

Sometimes I think there is nothing wrong with my life that a whole big bunch of money would not fix. Most of the time I lead this sweet life, in my tiny house in my funky turkey-infested neighborhood in this mediocre little city, with my kind of stinky dog and economy car. Then I venture out of my milieu, and realize there is a much more gracious and wondrous life out there, being lived by gracious and wonderful (and rich) people. Well, I could be doing that, too. I would just have to swallow a whole big bunch of bitterness and give up ever being seen or appreciated. I could have stayed married to my last ex-husband, and spent the rest of my life being reminded daily of all my deficiencies, which, I assure you, abound. I would have a fabulous house and shiny furniture and German cars and pedigreed dogs that get baths once a month and a monthly appointment for me at a chichi salon for color, cut and manicure. Then I remember the way I felt then, like an emotional cripple, unable to love myself at all because I knew I was selling out. And I remember that, even in my humble little life, I feel pretty good about what I am doing here, helping other women to find what I found, a life of spiritual peace. And I am happy with Nice and Easy and $15 haircuts. I am satisfied with going to the local community college. I am grateful to be alive at all. It's like sometimes I just go to sleep, and forget who I am, which is enough, just the way I am now. I am not missing anything here. No more is needed. Amen.