I put on my "bumpin' tunes" playlist, cranked the bass on my nice computer sound system and set out to work. I put all the boxes that were on the floor of my closet up on shelves, I consolidated my 7-piece luggage set that had managed to strew itself about over the last few months, and I put all my clothes on my freshly made bed in order to sort and fold. "Fireflies" by Owl City came on and in a moment of whimsy I wrapped my hipster scarf around my shoulders and began spinning and dancing around in the small amount of floor space I have.
For a couple minutes I was just joyously happy. I love that song; I felt carefree; I was thinking about how in a few hours I'd be home with the familiar smells of furniture and cleaning products I grew up with; I was thinking about how things with Alex were, in general, quite wonderful and how I was looking forward to the next couple months of birthdays and Christmas and anniversaries; in my fanciful spinning I'd catch glimpses out my window of my very typical Chicago street and felt content that I'm living a version of life that, since high school, I've always pictured for myself.
I'm happy, my friends. I'm content. Work can be frustrating and customers infuriating but I have a career trajectory solidly in mind and that sense of purpose has lifted the cloud of failure that has been hanging over my head since graduation. I have a wonderful family who loves me including a very tolerant sister who puts up with my habitual slobbishness. I have a Thanksgiving dinner with family friends who've known me since I was naught but a glimmer in my parents' eyes to look forward to, and a cold front has finally descended upon Chicago so I think my best friend Snow is in my near future.
I am grateful and thankful for this happiness, for this contentment with my lot in life. I'm feeling a bit sentimental, but cold weather and holidays have that effect on me.