I’ve been thinking about perspective lately.
It doesn’t come as any surprise, really. My 38th birthday is around the corner. Around several more corners will be the birth of my second child. I’ve also been reading Brené Brown’s “Daring Greatly,” a book that makes me take a discerning look at how I’ve been viewing myself and my life. Last but not least there’s the mind-boggling love story of Justin and Gabriele Grunewald, who I wrote about in my last post.
So, yes. The idea of perspective has been standing intrusively close, staring me right in the eye, breathing in my face. It’s uncomfortable and at times unsettling. But necessary.
It’s easy, so easy, to complain. To find flaws. In everything and everyone in every macroscopic and microscopic detail of our lives. That doesn’t mean it’s right.
I’ve been dabbling in perspective shifts for a long time, but frankly? My previous efforts were garbage. They were shallow — inspirations I got from blog posts or signs or Facebook. They struck me but never really sank in. I want that to change. It needs to change.
There will be times ahead — as more birthdays come and go, as I figure out how to be a mother to two small children, as life and death continue to happen — when my perspective, my mindset, what I know in my heart but too often cast aside — will be not just a key factor, but the key factor in navigating them successfully.
I don’t want to age “gracefully;” I want to age boldly, with fire. I want to become very, very familiar with Brené Brown’s arena (okay, Theodore Roosevelt’s arena); I want to breathe in its smells and hear its sounds in my ears and learn to relish them. I want to be Brave Like Gabe.
I want to say “I get to,” not “I have to.”
I get to witness my body changing with age and motherhood.
I get to be utterly worn out at the end of each day.
I get to have Those Talks with my husband.
I get to run. Period.
That’s a start. I want to continue that.
I want to live as though everything is a miracle.