I Don't Want a Bigger Life. I Want to Like the One I Have.

For a long time, I thought wanting more from life meant wanting a bigger life.

More success.

More money.

More experiences.

More interesting plans.

Something different enough that I could point to it and say, There. That's what I've been waiting for.

I'm not sure I believe that anymore.

Lately, I've been thinking about something much less exciting:

I want to like my regular life.

Not vacation life.

Not someday life.

Not the life I'll have when I make more money or have fewer responsibilities or finally figure out what I'm doing.

The one I'm living on a Tuesday afternoon.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about what's next

I'm naturally future-oriented.

I like plans. Projects. Possibilities.

There's always something that could be improved, organized, changed or figured out.

And there's nothing wrong with wanting things.

I still want things.

I want financial security. I want meaningful work. I want to travel. I want to keep making my home better. I want new experiences. I want to see what else I can build.

But I'm starting to notice how easy it is to spend your whole life leaning toward the next version of it.

When I get the job.

When I lose the weight.

When the house is finished.

When I have more money.

When caregiving ends.

When things settle down.

Then I'll...

What?

Start enjoying myself?

Most of life isn't the big stuff

This is embarrassingly obvious, but it took me a long time to really understand it.

Most of my life is ordinary.

I make coffee.

I work.

I run errands.

I figure out dinner.

I take care of things around the house.

I exercise.

I answer emails.

I water plants.

I watch television.

I go to bed.

Then I get up and do another version of it.

There are trips and holidays and celebrations and big moments mixed in.

But they're not most of it.

Most of it is Tuesday.

And if I'm always waiting for something bigger to make life feel good, I'm essentially deciding that most of my life doesn't count.

I've become strangely interested in small improvements

Maybe this is why I've become so invested in my house.

And my garden.

And making spaces work better.

And getting stronger.

And figuring out routines.

None of these things are particularly glamorous.

But they affect my actual life.

A garden I enjoy looking at changes an ordinary morning.

A room that works well changes how it feels to live in the house.

Being stronger changes what my body can do.

Having food I like in the refrigerator makes Wednesday night easier.

Getting rid of something that's been annoying me for six months is surprisingly satisfying.

These are tiny things.

But I'm starting to think tiny things have been seriously underestimated.

Maybe this is what getting older changes

At 30, I think I wanted my life to be exciting.

At 40, I wanted it to be successful.

At 52, I'm increasingly interested in whether it feels good.

Do I like being in my home?

Do I have people I can be myself around?

Does my work leave room for the rest of me?

Can I pay my bills without panic?

Is my body strong enough to let me do the things I want to do?

Do I have something to look forward to?

Do I laugh?

Do I have enough time when nobody needs anything from me?

Those questions feel much more important to me now.

Maybe because I've finally realized there isn't going to be some future point when ordinary life ends and the real one begins.

This is the real one.

That doesn't mean settling

I think that's an important distinction.

Liking the life you have doesn't mean deciding you shouldn't want anything else.

There are parts of my life I absolutely want to change.

There are circumstances I wouldn't have chosen.

There are things I'm actively working toward.

Acceptance and ambition can apparently live in the same house.

I can want more financial security and still enjoy coffee on the patio.

I can want different work and still appreciate having flexibility today.

I can love my mother and still want more of my time to belong to me.

I can want my circumstances to change without treating the present like a waiting room.

That's the part I'm trying to learn.

I want ordinary Tuesdays to be good

Not perfect.

Not productive enough to earn a gold star.

Just good.

A decent cup of coffee.

Work that feels useful.

A walk.

Something growing outside.

Dinner I actually want to eat.

A conversation with someone I love.

A house that feels like home.

Something I'm curious about.

Something I'm looking forward to.

Maybe that's not a small life.

Maybe that's just a life viewed from close enough to notice it.

I'm still interested in what comes next.

I'm still building.

I'm still changing things.

But I don't want to spend the next decade waiting for my life to become something worth enjoying.

I want to make this version good too.

Even the Tuesdays.