The place was loud and crowded, but thankfully we had found a few seats at the bar. My husband and I were grateful for the night out and to be in the company of friends. As we ordered another round of drinks, the conversation turned to what it means to live a good life.
I imagined Maddie and Katie, all grown up, and thought about what I wished for them. Tears came to my eyes. I listened as my husband and friends debated the importance of a college education, of a comfortable income, and of doing what you love. As they tried to define the threshold requirements for living a good life, the tears slipped down my cheeks.
My friends probably thought it was the idea of a grown-up Maddie and Katie that was causing my tears. Or maybe they thought it was the beer. They were wrong.
The tears were because I know about living a good life.
I sat in that loud and crowded place, nearing the end of a winter break that was filled with family and laughter and beautifully ordinary moments. I sat at my husband’s side, surrounded by friends who feel more like family, imagining the endless possibilities that lie ahead of my sweet, sweet daughters. Yes, I know about living a good life.
This. This is a very good life.