Living for Today

One of my closest girlfriends is Christian. We are constantly discussing religion. She is fascinated and confused by my lack of faith. She frequently questions my reasoning. She can't understand how I can not believe in miracles and a higher power. She can't understand how someone can live a good and moral life without fear of retribution in the after-life. She can't understand how I, as an Atheist, can possibly be a good human being. Even though she knows that I am in fact a very good and moral person.

A few days ago, during a girls night out, we of course got on the subject of religion, afterlife, heaven, and all of that good stuff. She told me how sad she is that I am living my life thinking that when I die, everything ends. It is sad that in my mind I will just cease to exist.

She then went on to state that she couldn't understand why I am not living my life to the fullest. As a Christian, she believes that her life will truly begin when she dies. Once she gets to heaven, there will be no pain, no worries, no stress and she can do basically anything she pleases. But for me, since I believe my time is finite, why am I not living a more exciting and fulfilling life?

This question caught me off-guard. Not because the religious aspect of it has any meaning for me. But the fact that the fullness of my life was being called into question startled me.

I am a mother of two. I have a happy marriage and a wonderful husband. We own a home. Two cats, two dogs. We take annual vacations. I am privileged enough to stay home with my amazing kids. I have a great relationship with my mother. I have enough friends to fill my social calendar. What else could I possibly want out of life?

I was sad.

I suppose I can see how others would see my life and think it is not exciting. I have acknowledged to myself a number of times that if at the age of eighteen I had looked twelve years into the future and seen the life I live today, I would have been horrified. Terrified of my own future, my own destiny.

But that would have been my perception at eighteen. My perception of my life now, at thirty-one years of age, is that it is an amazing life. Everything would be easier if we had more money. But money is not important. The things in life that matter are ever-present in my life. How could I be more fulfilled?

It is impossible to look at someone else's life and try to determine whether or not they are living life to its fullest. For some, their career is what brings them fulfillment. For others, it is adrenaline and adventure. For me, and I suspect for the majority of the human population, it is family. It is love. It is home and security.

There are so many things I still want to do in my lifetime. I want to travel to Greece. I want to take a cruise. I want to go to grad school. I want to pursue a career that will benefit my fellow human beings. I'm only thirty-one. And I feel like I'm still young enough that I have plenty of time to do all these things.

So many of the aspirations I had in my younger years have been post-poned, or even cancelled, because I chose to have a family. I would have loved to have served in the Peace Corps. But when the time came to consider that path, I knew that meant postponing parenthood for more years than I was willing. And so I chose not to pursue that route.

When I was younger, I had always assumed that I would be earning six figures by my mid-thirties. But I am now a stay at home mom. Clearly I will not be a big money earner anytime soon. And I'm okay with that now.

I know that there are plenty of things I cannot do now that I had intended to do. But I also know that there is no one on this earth that has brought me more happiness than my children. There is no experience that I could have gone through that would be more wondrous than hearing a baby laugh for the first time, watching them learn to walk, or taking them to their first day of school. Nothing I gave up would fill my heart more than having my kind and wonderful husband to wrap my arms around at the end of my day.

So I am living for here. I do not have infinity to look forward to. All I have are the eighty years I'll be granted on this earth. Not a day goes by that I don't think about how fortunate I am to be living the life I'm living. I've been so lucky in most aspects of my life. I am fulfilled. I am happy. I'm looking forward to fifty more years of adventures. And the choices I've made have given me the ability to look forward to sharing those adventures with three amazing people; my husband, my daughter, and my son.

Where did all my new go?

I remember life as a youth as feeling magical. Everything just seemed more special fifteen years ago. And as I was driving today, listening to Taylor Swift sing her most recent hit on the radio about life as a fifteen year old, I thought about what it was like when everything was new.

Newness. That is what brings magic into youth. Everyday is filled with something new. Something previously undiscovered. A new experience. A new revelation. A new bit of knowledge. Something new is bound to cross your path when you are so new to this world.

And as I thought about the magic I felt as I experienced my first kiss, my first time driving a car, my first day in a new school, all of the firsts I've experienced, it makes me wonder if "new" is no longer a part of my life. Is this yet another curse that comes with becoming an adult? Loss of magic, loss of excitement, loss of new.

There are plenty of things I will experience for the first time going forward. But they all seem to be in relation to my children. I will someday (presumably) be a grandmother. That will be new. I will give my child(ren) away at their weddings. That will be new. I will accompany them through all of the firsts, all of the new, as they go through their lives. But I will only be experiencing new vicariously through them. It won't be my new. It will be their new. Thrilling of course. But not mine.

Where is my new? As an adult, how do we continue to experience new on a regular basis? Is it only through the accumulation of meaningless material possessions that new can remain in our lives? Perhaps that is why we continue to seek bigger, better, newer things. This is the only way we can bring the magic of new, the magic we experienced daily as children and teenagers, back into our adult lives.

Life now is so much more satisfying than it was as a teenager. I can honestly say that each day of my life is filled with more contentment and happiness than I ever experienced as a youth. The drama of the pre-teen and teenage years has not escaped my memory just yet. I don't miss those days at all. Maybe that is the trade-off. New disappears, but security and comfort are abundant.

Worth the trade, I suppose.

But I can't help bt mourn the loss of new.