The recipe for a lucky life

I think I was so busy living my life I never stopped long enough to appreciate it as much as I should have.  That’s not to say I wasn’t grateful because I was, I counted my blessings, I knew I was fortunate.  I just don’t think I appreciated the miracle of it enough. 

I was living with a man who loved me and who I loved with my whole heart in return – that in itself is a huge miracle.  That love had withstood the test of time, forty years of ups and downs.  Forty years.  We had created three children together who were now strong, healthy, beautiful adults who still seemed to like us. That is a crazy miracle too, considering they had all been teenagers at one point and we had all lived to tell the tale.  

I’ve always known I was lucky; lucky to live in Canada, lucky to have a home and food on the table, lucky to be smart enough to realize I was lucky. But I don’t think I appreciated all that luck enough. The number of tiny miracles that came together every day to create my lucky life absolutely amazes me.

These days my life is missing an ingredient and the lucky life I was so used to living flops every morning. It’s like I have forgotten to put the flour in a cake recipe – and a cake just isn’t a cake without the flour, it’s a soupy, awful, sticky mess.  I keep reminding myself that I still have a heap of blessings, enough ingredients to make something other than cake, I just need a new recipe, a new plan. 

The new plan is the problem right now, I haven’t got a clue what that looks like, I haven’t found the recipe.  My ingredients are top notch; the kids and their families, my close friends and extended family, my dogs, my home.  My pantry is full – I’ve got the makings of something delicious I’m just not sure how to put it together yet.

I’ve been advised not to rush into anything, to take a moment to let the change in my life sink in. That’s probably a good idea – I wake up some days wanting to sell the house and get the hell out of Dodge, the next day I don’t even want to get out of bed. I start projects and lose interest before they’re finished. I forget to buy milk. Every day is an emotional crap shoot.  I am fixated on the flopped cake. 

I think the first thing I have to do is accept that I was, and still am, fortunate beyond measure and miracles still surround me.  I’m still living a lucky life even as I cope with the changes in it.  I sure as hell don’t want to wake up one morning and kick myself for not appreciating it enough. Gratitude, it turns out, might be a good substitute for flour — I’m going to start with that.