Good.
My family was sitting in the RV, nestled comfortably in a very nice campground in Denali State Park. We'd spent the morning hiking up the ridge to take in the scenery and stretch our legs. The teen was stretched out in the bed over the cab, sound asleep. The youngest and his sister were playing on the iPads on the bench seat on one side of the table. My wife and I were curled up on the other side. I just gazed contently out the window at the leaves in all of the fall glory and the snow-dusted mountains that surrounded us while the wife read.
My wife looked at me and said, "this is good."
It was presented as a statement of fact. Not "good enough" or "this will do", but rather this was exactly where we should be at that particular moment.
Rare are the times that I've experienced that sensation so completely. That's not to say I haven't been happy or content or satisfied or whatever else you want to call it, but this was one of those times where my mind wasn't racing from one thought to another or fixating irrationally on something. I was perfectly fine where I was. Usually it takes a pretty good hit of morphine for that sort of thing.
Eventually the spell was broken. The kids wanted to cook hotdogs over the fire, which required Dad to go build a fire. When I was a kid, we made the fires. We were good at it. Scary good. If it burned, we set it on fire. If it exploded, so much the better. My eyebrows were frequently crispy from my numerous miscalculations. Maybe it's good that Dad makes the fires for now.
At night it got cold, so I turned on the furnace while the kids burrowed deeper under the piles of fleece blankets. I marveled at the luxury. For the first 47 years of my life, cold, wet, and uncomfortable were just equal parts of the fun of camping. Now I had a choice. I could expose myself to the elements just outside my door, and when I had enough of that nonsense I could just turn up the heat. Magical.
I'm getting soft in my old age.
"Good" has changed over the years, which is exactly how it should be.
My wife looked at me and said, "this is good."
It was presented as a statement of fact. Not "good enough" or "this will do", but rather this was exactly where we should be at that particular moment.
Rare are the times that I've experienced that sensation so completely. That's not to say I haven't been happy or content or satisfied or whatever else you want to call it, but this was one of those times where my mind wasn't racing from one thought to another or fixating irrationally on something. I was perfectly fine where I was. Usually it takes a pretty good hit of morphine for that sort of thing.
Eventually the spell was broken. The kids wanted to cook hotdogs over the fire, which required Dad to go build a fire. When I was a kid, we made the fires. We were good at it. Scary good. If it burned, we set it on fire. If it exploded, so much the better. My eyebrows were frequently crispy from my numerous miscalculations. Maybe it's good that Dad makes the fires for now.
At night it got cold, so I turned on the furnace while the kids burrowed deeper under the piles of fleece blankets. I marveled at the luxury. For the first 47 years of my life, cold, wet, and uncomfortable were just equal parts of the fun of camping. Now I had a choice. I could expose myself to the elements just outside my door, and when I had enough of that nonsense I could just turn up the heat. Magical.
I'm getting soft in my old age.
"Good" has changed over the years, which is exactly how it should be.
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