Contentment

She woke up at 5:45 when her alarm went off just like every other morning. She fed the dogs, brushed her teeth, combed her hair with the practiced routine that didn’t require brain cells. She debated over how professional she cared to dress for the day and if she would even care if someone noticed. She walked into the kitchen to the expectant tail wags of her dogs waiting for her to fill her water bottle so they could get their special ice cube treat. Even they knew her routine down pat. She packed her lunch, let the dogs go out one more time, and then loaded the car. She kissed each dog on the forehead, and locked the door behind her. 

. . .

During her commute, she sipped idly at her still too-hot coffee, and engaged in her standard morning introspection. She noticed that Sings-a-Lot Hippie was driving a lot faster than he normally did. Angry-Faced Soccer Mom Van wouldn’t stop honking at the 18-wheeler in the right-hand lane. Al Gore Prius Sticker was a little late today; she didn’t see him get on the highway as she passed, but noticed him in the rearview mirror a few minutes later. She tried making eye contact with Deadpan Business Suit Man for the hundredth time, but he still wouldn’t look left or right. After she exited, she parked, chugged the remainder of her coffee, ran an eyeliner over her eyes like a 4th grader trying to finish a math test, grabbed her bag, took three steadying breaths, and walked through the front door. 

. . .

At 5:00, she filed out alongside her coworkers. Hairy Knuckles continued his complaints about the cold weather that had been here for over two months. Flower Dress kept trying her best to seduce Pointy Adam’s Apple, who, much like Deadpan Business Suit Man, wouldn’t look anywhere but straight ahead. Grinds Her Teeth left something in the office and had to go back in; this was the third time this week. Loves the Broncos held the door open for Grinds Her Teeth and wished her a happy evening. 

. . .

When she got home, she fed her dogs and alternated staring absent-mindedly into the pantry and the refrigerator trying to decide how much effort she wanted to put into making a meal. Once decided, she changed into her sweats and put on another mindless show to help drown out her internal voice. 

After dinner was always the trickiest part. Everything else might be routine, but after dinner left options. She could read, go on a walk, continue watching TV, take a bath, get high, get drunk, call a friend, or just sit trying to parse through this nagging feeling she had growing inside of her that she had been avoiding for far too long. 

Tonight, she chose to read. 

She combed over her immense shelves to select the perfect words for her current mood. Her fingers brushed the spines, and for the first time all day, she felt fulfilled. Finally, she selected a novel and moved to get comfortable as she cracked the spine. She heard something hit the ground and saw a page from the corner of her eye. When she bent down and picked it up, before she even opened the folded picture, she knew what she would see. She wasn’t ready for it, but she also couldn’t prevent herself from looking. 

Everything stopped: her breathing, her heart beat, her thoughts. All the usual noises were muted: the dogs pacing, the conversations on the television, the cars driving by. 

She was so acutely aware of herself in this moment that she felt as though she were an overhead observer of her own life. Watching this moment from above, she thought: what will she do next? 

Being the one in this moment, she envied anyone observing. They could view this scene with the same level of detachment that she viewed any of the shows she watched during dinner. They didn’t know what this picture was and how powerful it had become to her. They didn’t realize that this picture had the capacity to light a fuse on the stick of dynamite that she thought was her life. They didn’t care. In fact, they were probably rooting for just that. But she was the one with the weight of the world to carry, and when she turned to look, it was her sitting on her own shoulders. 

In the middle of the floor, she sat down; a feeling so overwhelming she couldn’t even begin to process it. It overpowered and took hold of her to the point that she felt numb. The world around her faded to black as she abandoned the book and took the photograph in both hands. She needed to keep this picture pristine, but she also couldn’t quell the tension in her hands from crumbling it around the edges. Her brow furrowed with concentration, but try as she might, she had lost control of...everything. 

As carefully as she could, she unfolded the picture, and the reaction was immediate. She was swept away. Suddenly, her mind was filled with so many memories beyond just the one in her hand. Time had lost all meaning to her until her dogs came upon her requesting their evening trip outside. Her entire evening had become devoted to...this. 

As she snapped back to reality and let her dogs outside, she felt lighter, and yet, she also felt full. When she looked at her dogs, at her house, at her reflection in the mirror, everything suddenly felt joyous and hopeful. 

. . .

In bed that night, after she had prepared the coffee maker, put away the dishes, and kissed her dogs on their foreheads, she laid in the silence and let the darkness drag her back into the past where everything made more sense and she felt like herself. 

When sleep couldn’t take her, she turned on the light and went into her closet. At the top, she found the box now covered with dust and debris. Back on the bed, ignoring her dogs’ questioning looks about this breach of protocol, she lifted the lid with about as much caution as Pandora knowing full well the effects it would rain down upon her life. 

She didn’t have the mental, emotional, or physical strength to dive into each tempting memory; she just needed to find the one. 

When she found the letter, just holding the familiar pages sent a shock of electricity through her entire body that she would almost swear she had been struck by lightning. Goosebumps fizzled on her arms and legs. She had to set the letter down on the bed. It was too powerful. 

For a long time, she just stared at it. The silence was too loud in her ears. She couldn’t find the ability to even hear the voice in her head. There was nothing in the air except anticipation... 

. . .

The light was the first thing she noticed. She always woke up before the sun was out. Already she knew she was incredibly late for work. Her phone, abandoned in the living room next to the discarded book, could distantly be heard blaring the useless alarm. 

Normally, she would panic because this shattered the flow of her daily life. Even her dogs had become antsy trying to understand the sudden change. They knew it wasn’t the weekend, so why wasn’t it business as usual? 

However, as her eyes adjusted to the light and fell on the unopened letter, she felt a sense of calm that she hadn’t felt in years. Within that calmness came the answers to questions she didn’t know she had constantly been screaming into the void of her life. 

After feeding her dogs, making some tea (not coffee), and silencing her phone alarm, she went outside to enjoy the sun’s warmth in contrast to the extreme cold. She felt awake in a way that she hadn’t since her life before. 

Her phone buzzed, and she realized she had six missed calls and thirteen unread messages. The clarity of understanding that these messages had nothing to do with her wellbeing, but only in the fact that they needed someone to do a job sent a surge of energy through her whole body. Before she could think, she stood up, reared back, and hurled her phone over the fence and into the woods. While the silence last night was heavy and vociferous, this morning’s silence was energizing and harmonious.

. . . 

She walked into the house and into the bedroom. She grabbed the letter and felt the same familiar electricity pulse giving her courage. Without bothering to sit, she opened the letter and began to read. Her heart raced and her breath quickened. Her eyes scanned over each word even though she knew them all by heart. She paid close attention to every detail in the handwriting, and lingered over certain words until they burned into her brain. 

Finally, she came to the signature and the postscript, and the letter was done. The pain these words used to fill her with was no longer there. The tears that always flowed once she read the ending didn’t come today. The ache in her chest where she thought her heart had disappeared was replaced by a warmth and strength that made her feel complete. 

For the remainder of the day, she did nothing but reminisce. She felt like she was flying. Colors were bolder; the world was beautiful, and she was a part of it. 

. . .

That night, she realized she had to make a decision that finally revolved around her happiness and not a paycheck or an established life. These weren’t the things that mattered to her. She only thought they did because that’s what she was groomed to believe. Swept in the tides of societal norms, she hit every milestone and checked every box. She was content. She was stable. That meant happiness and peace-of-mind. 

But yesterday, she was reminded that a fulfilling life has nothing to do with bank accounts and routines. Passion is the only real measure. 

. . .

When she woke without an alarm, she knew without looking that it was time for work. Frozen between what she should do and what she wanted to do, she stared without blinking or breathing into the void.

. . .

Mechanically, she got out of bed and fed the dogs. She brushed her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair. She put on slacks and a button down shirt, and walked into the kitchen. Her dogs got their ice cubes and their forehead kisses before she locked the door behind her. 

. . .

She saw all the usual people at their customary times behind the wheels of their familiar vehicles. She smiled inwardly when she saw Sings-A-Lot Hippie slamming his hands on the wheel in time to the song. At a slow point in traffic, she found herself adjacent to Deadpan Business Suit Man. When she looked his way, she studied the side profile of his face. As she was contemplating what could be going on in his mind, he dropped his cellphone. As he reached for it, his gaze drifted out the window to the left, and his eyes locked on hers. For the first time, she saw Deadpan smile, and her stomach filled with butterflies. 

. . .

In the parking lot at work, she chugged her coffee, scratched on some make up, and grabbed her bag. She didn’t need the steadying breaths today. At her desk, she found a card and flowers signed by everyone on her floor wishing her a speedy recovery. She didn’t know any of the names written inside. 

She moved the vase so it would be out of her way but in her line of sight, adjusted a few flowers, and then sat down ready to begin her day.