I am a terrible driver.  Truly awful.  I actually forewarn friends and acquaintances of this personal flaw when they suggest “carpooling”.  I’m all in, just be aware: I should not drive.

I know that sounds ridiculous.  “Katie, it’s driving.  Not rocket science.”  I understand it should not be difficult.  And the general mechanics of it are not.  The gas pedal, the steering wheel, the side and rearview mirrors.  No big deal.  It’s just that … I get so distracted by everything else while in the car.

I get distracted by people passing by, and well-manicured lawns, and pretty front doors and wreaths, by people jogging along sidewalks, and interesting window displays.  I get distracted by adorable dogs trotting along their owner’s sides, and cotton fields, and road side stands, and “Opening Soon” signs.  I get distracted by all the things happening in the world, all around me, and outside of my lane.

I think this is what happens in life sometimes too.  With Facebook and Instragram and Twitter and SnapChat, there’s so many opportunities to gaze into others’ lives.  Check out other yards, other homes, other achievements, and other weekends.  We now have constant access to everyone else’s life schedules, and everyone else’s adventures.  And it makes our own lives seem more… gray.  Boring.  Less awesome.  Maybe even in some cases, it makes our own lives seem lacking.  Or even depressing.

This is the point where John will likely pipe up from reading this and ask, “Is this the one where you’re going to tell us you’re putting down your phone?”

I agree.  I do spend much too much time on my phone.  Telling myself that I’m keeping up with the lives of friends and family, ready to cheer on their endeavors, or keep up with current prayer requests: whichever need they’ve chosen to share on their social media outlets.

If I’m honest with myself, the “keeping up” often has a deeper impact.  Seeing others’ lives so constantly can make my own life seem amiss somehow.

But when I swerve back in my own lane, stop looking out the window and rather look into my own living room, my own kitchen, and my own life, I find that I’m a lot more content than my Facebook scrolling would have me believe.

You see, there was a time when all I wanted was to have back what everyone else had now.  There was a time when my adventurous, spontaneous shenanigans were just a cover up for escaping the loneliness of not having my family at all.  There was a time when all I sought was getting back to normalcy.

I’d post adventures, and check-in’s, and laughter, and shenanigans.  But what I really wanted was what I had lost.  And in coming to terms with the fact that there was no going back, and that the former life could not be replaced, I instead started to just wish for normalcy.  A normal routine, meals made at a home, the monotony of chores, and a predictable passing by of life.

I yearned for that for so long.  In what others may call a “boring” life, I saw my dream.

At this moment, I am taking time to swerve back into my own lane.  And as I peer into my own life, looking closely at what surrounds me, here is what I observe:

My house smells of coffee and dog dander.  Later, it might also smell like the after-effects of that sausage patty Chip nabbed during breakfast.

My kitchen sink is filled to the brim with dirty dishes, because John finally gave in to my requests of making waffles for breakfast.

The white couch is yet again covered in a layer of black fur from an extended session of belly rubs, and needs to be lint rolled a second time this weekend.

A wilted orchid sits on the mantle.  I thought for sure I could follow the explicitly simple directions to keep it alive and watered.  But John has had a hard time hiding his doubt since it was received as a wedding gift.

Tonight, there will be snoring.  Some will be mine, more will be John’s.  And I look forward to that sound each and every night, because it means he’s still there.

A stack of unread books sits on my bedside table.  Sometimes a chapter at a time gets read, but more often they just collect dust.  I’ll get there.  Slowly.

The laundry room appears to be more of an ode to the stages of laundry, thanks to John’s active travel schedule and my disdain for the chore in general.  His suitcase is a semi-permanent fixture in our lives.

Our DVR, like the laundry basket, seems to always be full.

Our daily conversations revolve around vitamins, dinner, and whose turn it is to vacuum.

And somewhere on the kitchen table, there is the name of a traffic attorney I need to call.  Because I may have been so engrossed in the enjoyment of a beautiful fall drive one day that I missed the decrease in speed limit for just a smidgen too long.  And the friendly uniformed traffic supervision thought I should know.

So just like that, life has settled back into its own rhythm.  For some, this may sound like a life of chaos.  To me, it is a picture of my own imperfect heaven.

Had I been staring out the window at the posted pictures of others’ lives, I might have missed this subtle change in mine.  If I spent time obsessing over how my life could be better, or improved upon, or at least up to par with what I compare it with on Facebook, I might have missed the pivotal shift when it became exactly what I’d wanted to be.

I came across this a while back and saved it to my phone.  But as I sit here, taking inventory of the present, I have to wonder if “one day” is actually today.

I have made no secret of how difficult loss continues to be.  But right now, in this moment in time, things are okay.

As the holidays approach and I’m asked what I want for Christmas, I’ll likely shrug.  Because when I look around, I have all that I want right here.  And when friends and acquaintances ask about my New Year’s resolutions, I will politely smile and ask about their’s instead.  Because I have no interest in any big self or life improvements of my own right now.

When I swerve back into my lane, I see that the mundane pieces of my life are actually quite wonderful.  And although I have goals and dreams still to achieve, my lane is the only place I’ll be focusing.

You’re welcome, fellow drivers.  And Fuquay-Varina Police Department.