New Normal

It occurred to me recently that we have firmly rooted into the new normal of life 2.0.

We have been living in Hopewell House for 1.5 years now.  The paint I slopped on the front steps after days of rain last June is predictably peeling from the permanently wet wood.  The gardens are ridden with weeds and neglect as the season transitions into the cooler days of autumn.  The floors need to be swept and mopped, and toys litter the unkempt yard.  We are easing back into the routine of school and work.  Jack Byron started Kindergarten last week, and Claira will begin pre-school on Wednesday.  Two school-age kiddos who still need so very much of my everything, but grow by the day.

I have been at my job for a year now.  I find myself enjoying my work more and more as I settle into this new role and place.  It is a gift to have an office to retreat to at the beginning of each day.  A place to support others in their own challenges and transitions, away from my own.  I work two doors down from my son’s classroom and just a few hundred feet from my daughter’s building.  A place to grow and expand as a professional  while keeping close watch over my littles.  A perfect balance for a solo mom.

I’ve been hiking a lot.  Maybe not as much as I would have hoped, but enough.  My body is leaner, with powerful muscles strong enough to carry 90 pounds of children up the stairs.  I’ve found balance in the way I eat and move and live my life in general.

And then, there’s the most significant development of life 2.0…I’ve fallen in love.  With a man who loves me with the same passion and respect I hold for him.  A musician, intellectual, and fellow single parent living in central Vermont.  No doubt his presence in my life will be further detailed in future posts, but for now, he is here.  Someone who brings a smile to my face when I wake each morning.  Someone to process my day with on quiet evenings.  Someone with whom to share music and passions, adventures and text messages.  He makes me poached pears and tunes my guitars and washes my dishes.  He affects my brain like sunshine and hot coffee.  Light streaming into once-dark corners, crumbling walls, illuminating my existence in ways I believed were no longer possible.

His name is Peter. He’s pretty special.

Tim would have liked him.

It’s raining today.  I’m looking out the picture windows at the sunflowers blooming beyond the rock wall.  Music over the speakers, Claira napping upstairs.  2.5 years ago I could not have imagined I would find myself here.  In a place of happiness and peace.  Thankful for the life I have.  Hopeful for a future with infinite possibilities.

Not every moment feels quite so smooth, but this one does.  I now have the perspective to appreciate that.  To enjoy the simple contentment of a new normal.  To be grateful to be here, now.

Forward.