I started the new year with lofty goals of losing weight and being more intentional. Which are the exact same goals I have set for myself every year since 1997. Maybe there was an Oprah show about it back then.
I don't know if it's taken me this long to finally get comfortable in my own skin? I feel like I'm finally at a place where I'm content. I don't live up to my own imagined standards of perfection, but it's okay. My kids are all great in spite of me. My house will never be featured in a magazine. I would never want the people I went to art school with to critique my stuff, and I don't ever want to wear a swimsuit in front of anyone but the other moms at the kiddie pool. And I'm okay with all that.
When people that I haven't seen in a few years ask what I've been up to and I say, "Oh, you know, the same sort of thing as before." That's okay. Because life this way is pretty swell.